The Distant Cartograph
"Are you hungry, Thomas?" I looked up from the ledger. The ink was dry. The candle had burned down to a stub. My father’s face was grey in the dim light. He looked tired. Not the tiredness of a long day’s work. It was a deeper tiredness. A hollowed out tiredness. "I am fine," I said. My voice was small. I did not like my own voice. It sounded thin. Like paper tearing. "You look thin," he said....
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