The Golden Harbor
The letter lay on the desk, its seal cracked, the ink smudged where Uncle Arthur’s thumb had pressed it in haste. You read it twice, the words blurring into a single, damning line: *The funds for the restoration are denied.* It was a refusal wrapped in the polite language of bankruptcy, a final nail in the coffin of your hope to mend the fractured stained-glass window in the chapel. You were...
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