The Golden Oath
The rain had been falling for three days straight, turning the cobblestones of the South Side into a slick, black mirror that reflected the gray sky in distorted, trembling shards. Elias Thorne stood in the alley behind the pension office, his boots heavy with mud, watching the water drip from the eaves in a steady, rhythmic line. He needed forty dollars. That was the price of the morphine for...
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