The Golden Visit
The brass key in Sergeant Elias Thorne’s hand was cold, its teeth worn smooth by a decade of turning locks that did not wish to be opened. He stood before the iron gate of the Blackwood Estate, the metal bars vibrating with a faint, low hum that he felt in his molars rather than heard with his ears. It was November of 1893, and the air smelled of wet coal dust and the sharp, metallic tang of...
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