The Golden Visit
The fire had a smell like burnt sugar and old iron. It was not a pleasant scent, but it was a familiar one to Elias Thorne, who had spent forty years breathing the fumes of solder and oil in his workshop on Miller’s Lane. The heat pressed against his back, a physical weight, heavier than the oak bench he had built for his apprentices. He stood in the center of the room, the floorboards groaning...
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