The Distant Summer
The ink smudges on the ledger page. It looks like a bruise. You stare at it. The paper is cheap. It tears easily. Your finger traces the edge. The desk is cold. Iron. Heavy. The room smells of dust and varnish. You are alone. The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. Your name is Arthur Vane. You are a sergeant. You have worn the uniform for twenty years. The wool chafes your neck. It itches. You...
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