The Golden Master
The ledger showed three hours of work, twelve pages of translation, and a fee of forty pounds. You counted the coins in the tin cup on your desk, the metal cold and gritty against your thumb. Outside, the fog pressed against the glass of the shop window, a thick, grey wool that muffled the street noise into a dull, rhythmic thud. You looked at your left forearm. The ink was there again. It had...
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