The Wistful Atlas
The ink is wrong, Elias, it’s the wrong shade of blue, Samuel said, holding the proof sheet up to the window light with a frown that had been deepening for the better part of an hour. You’re going to be docked for this, he continued, his voice tight with the specific anxiety of a man who has just realized he is working for a fool, the contract stipulates a standard Prussian blue for all...
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