The Golden Echoes
Salvatore Nicosi, thirty-two years old and the constable of the lower ward, woke with the taste of rust in his mouth and the knowledge that the granary was empty, a fact that had settled into his bones like a splinter he could not pick out. The frost of the year 1347 had not merely chilled the air of Tuscany; it had frozen the wheels of the mill and the hope of the looms, leaving the silk town...
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