The Wistful Mirror
The ledger lay open on my knee, its pages stiff with the cold that had seeped through my wool trousers, and I watched the ink of the last entry smear as my thumb pressed down, the weight of the paper feeling suddenly heavier than the iron bar I had hauled into the boiler room that morning. I was Elias Thorne, a constable of the Blackwood Coal Company, and I was thirty-four years old, though the...
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