The Golden Farce
The paper lay on the table, a stark white rectangle against the dark wood, bearing the magistrate’s seal and a sum that Elias Thorne did not have. Twelve pounds. The debt from the war, compounded by interest, sat there in black ink, a quiet accusation that smelled of dust and authority. Elias did not sign it. He folded the paper, slid it into his breast pocket, and walked out into the grey...
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