The Golden Crossing
Act I Pascal Depestre had worked the night shift at the sugar mill for twelve years, and his knees ached with a dull, persistent throb that no amount of rest could ease. He stood on the debtor’s side of the courthouse, the wet season rain turning the cobblestones into a slick, treacherous mirror that reflected the grimy faces of the onlookers. The High Magistrate, a man whose skin seemed to...
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