The Golden Farce
Do you know what it feels like to hold a door open for someone who is already gone? I asked Mr. Vane that in the basement, the air thick with the damp rot of the Fens. He looked at the ledger I held, the one I’d found behind the loose brick near the quarantine bench, and he didn’t blink. He just smiled, a slow, professional thing, and told me the institution required structural maintenance. I...
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