The Golden Cellar
The letter on the desk was thin, the paper cheap and yellowing at the edges, but the ink was fresh. "Mr. Vane. We cannot accept your valuation. The municipal assessment places your workshop at forty pounds. We expect the premises cleared by the first of the month. Signed, Alderman Halloway." Elias read it twice. The tremor in his left hand had started six months ago, a fine, electric buzz that...
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