The Golden Farce
Act I "You cannot take her, not while I stand here." Sari Syamsuddin’s voice was low, barely rising above the hum of the sewing machines in relay that vibrated through the floorboards of the ration office. He stood by the window where the light fell in a slant, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a relic of a trade no longer in...
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