The Golden Farce
"Get out of the way, you old mule, or I’ll have the constable drag you off." The voice was thin, stretched over the wind that snapped the market’s tarpaulin like a wet sheet. Nazario Zamudio stood in the doorway of the fish market, his breath pluming in the dry, biting air of the North. He was forty-two, but the cold of the place made him feel older, a man carved from the same pale stone as the...
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