The Wistful Witness
The ink on the ledger did not dry, it seemed to the eyes of the women standing in the vaulted, silent room of the Blackwood Estate, but rather it pooled and spread like a dark oil upon the surface of the page, a creeping tide that threatened to swallow the numbers, the dates, and the very names of those who had worked the land for generations, yet it was a slow, deliberate seepage that Margaret...
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