The Golden Myth
The ledger showed a deficit of forty-two pounds, six shillings, and fourpence, a sum that felt heavier than the brass weights Elias Thorne had spent the morning calibrating. He sat in the back of the workshop on Fleet Street, the smell of whale oil and damp wool thick in the air, and listened to the master clock tick. It was a large mechanism, a grandfather clock he had built for his own use,...
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