The Golden Myth
Act I "You’re telling me the foundation is singing, Vincenzo?" The words hung in the air, sharp and brittle, like the ice that had formed on the pharmacy window earlier that morning. I looked at Marco, my assistant, who stood by the door with his coat still on, his hands tucked into his pockets as if he were cold, though the room was stiflingly hot with the breath of the old boiler. I was...
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