The Distant Crown
In the grey October light that clings to the eaves of the terrace houses in the inner suburbs, the machinery of the port grinds on, indifferent to the small, crumbling lives it supports. Walter Cavett woke in the shared kitchen of the wartime flat, the linoleum cold against his bare feet, his mind still tangled in a fever-dream of a golden crown that hung heavy and impossible in the air above...
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