The Golden Visit
The drip was wet. It fell from the vaulted ceiling into the shallow pool at the base of the altar, a sound like a finger tapping a glass. I stopped writing. My pen hovered over the thesis draft, the ink still wet, the words *structural integrity* and *medieval masonry* blurring in the cold air. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, and I have spent the last decade mapping the bones of St. Jude’s...
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