The Wistful Show
The first thing Elara counted was the hours, or rather, the cost of them. Fourteen years of service, Mr. Thorne told her, standing in the doorway of the study with a manila folder tucked under his arm like a weapon. Fourteen years at a wage that had barely kept pace with the price of ink, he said, his voice dry as the dust on the shelves. He laid the folder on the desk, the paper stiff and...
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