The Golden Suspect
The red-marked rejection slip lay on the mahogany desk, a small, rectangular wound in the orderly spread of actuarial tables, and you folded it into your pocket with trembling, precise fingers, the crease sharp against the wool of your skirt. It was November in 1912, the air in the Meridian Insurance Exchange thick with the scent of dust and stale tobacco, and you sat alone in your office, the...
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