The Golden Cellar
The auction house on the Rue des Lavandiers hummed with the low, electric thrum of a hundred fluorescent tubes that had not been cleaned in a decade, casting a sickly, yellow pallor over the rows of shelving that stretched into the shadowed depths of the warehouse. It was a place of forgotten things, of debts liquidated and lives dismantled, where the air smelled of stale cardboard and the...
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