The Golden Mirror
The golden mirror was heavier than it looked, a slab of gilded glass set in a frame of carved oak that smelled of old varnish and dust. I held it with both hands, my knuckles white against the cold metal, trying to steady the tremor that had started in my left palm three months ago and was now a constant, low-frequency vibration in my nerves. The light in the Prime Minister’s private study was...
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