The Wistful Voyage
The tongs in Elias Thorne’s hand trembled, a fine, high-frequency vibration that traveled up through the leather grip and into the joints of his fingers. He was standing in the center of the composing room of the Meridian Press, surrounded by the low hum of the holiday banquet that had not yet started, but the air was already thick with the smell of roasted duck and stale beer. Before him, on...
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