The Distant Affair
The fog did not lift. It thickened. It rolled off the River Tyne like a shroud, swallowing the iron bridges, the gas lamps, the very edges of the world. Thomas stood at the edge of the quay. His boots were wet. The leather had cracked. He felt the cold in his marrow. He held the ledger. It was bound in red leather. The pages were stained with rust and sweat. Inside, the numbers were not...
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