The Pale Bridge
The letter lay on the desk, its edges curled like a dried leaf. It was a notice from the Crown’s tax office, written in a hand so tight it looked like a cage. Margaret Holloway read it twice. The debt was four hundred pounds, due by the new moon. Her father’s name was at the bottom, signed in ink that had faded to a bruised purple. If she did not pay, the farm would go to the stewards. She...
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