The Golden Harbor
Chapter One The estero ran black and thick under the weight of the monsoon, carrying the silt of the paddy fields up to the iron gates of the federal writers' project office, where the air hung heavy with the smell of wet paper and the distant, rhythmic clanging of the mill’s intake valves. It was a Tuesday in 1893, and the light coming through the high, barred windows was the pale, sickly grey...
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