The Pale Letter
They let me go on a Tuesday, and the steam press broke its back that same afternoon, so I took it for a sign, though not an agreeable one. Mr. Claxton called me into the counting room and told me my hand had slowed. He said it the way you tell a dog he is old, with fondness and apology and no help in it. "Miles," he said, "you set a page like a man laying a wreath. The new boys set a page like...
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