The Golden Harbor
The carriage wheels bit into the mud of the lane leading to Blackwood Manor, sending up a spray of dark earth that stained the white coat of Elias Thorne. He sat rigidly in the back, his hands clasped so tightly over his knees that the knuckles had turned the color of old bone, his eyes fixed on the silhouette of the house looming against the grey, bruised sky. At fifty, Elias was a man who had...
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