The Golden Visit
The apothecary’s bell above the door jingled with a dull, metallic thud that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots, a sound that cut through the humid, sulfurous air of the shop like a knife through wet wool. He did not look up from the mortar, where he was grinding dried foxglove into a fine, grey powder, his hands moving with the rhythmic,...
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