The Pale Mist
The invoice lay on the kitchen table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air, listing the debts of the house: coal, tallow, the doctor’s visit, and the final, stark line for the post-mortem examination that had not yet occurred. Arthur held the paper, his fingers stained black from the mine shafts, and read the numbers until they blurred into a single, unpayable sum. He was thirty-four...
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