The Golden Mirror
Chapter One Who is to say that a hand which cannot grip a rifle is any less a weapon than one that can? Kofi Owusu stared at the trembling fingers of his left hand, the joints swollen and stiff from the damp air that seeped through the walls of the telegraph exchange, a place where the clicks of the Morse code sounded like the dry cracking of bones. He was thirty-four years old, a detective in...
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