The Golden Echoes
The boundary wall did not separate the city from the fields so much as it separated the living from the debt they owed the dead. Vangelis Papathanasiou stood at the base of the crumbling masonry, the fracture in the golden coin cold against his palm, while the dogs of the neighborhood mapped the silence with a chorus of low, warning barks that sounded like the grinding of millstones. He was...
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