The Golden Visit
The order of arrest was written on heavy, cream-colored paper, the ink still wet and smelling of iron gall. Elias Thorne read it twice, the words sharp as shavings against his mind, before he signed his name at the bottom. He was thirty-four years old, a sergeant in the county constabulary, and he had not spoken to the man named in the document in twelve years. The paper crinkled in his fist as...
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