The Pale Letter
The paper lies flat on the desk, its edges yellowed and soft as old skin. You sign it. The ink is black, the date December first, and your hand is steady, though the cold in the room has begun to settle into the joints of your fingers. You are Elias, forty-two years old, the steward of the Ashworth estate, and you are writing to Martha, your sister, who has not spoken to you in three years...
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