The Golden Oath
Act I "Ernestina, you can’t just lock the door. He’s your husband."‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‍‍​‌‍‍‌​⁠‍⁠‌‍​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌‍​‍‍‍‌‌‌‍‌‍‍‍‍​‍⁠‍⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌​‍⁠​​‍‌ I wiped my hands on the apron, the lint already gray with the dust of the asylum linen. The air in the boarding house at eighty-four of the Rope Walk was thick, not with heat, but with the metallic tang of the rendering plant down the block, a smell that...
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