The Distant Affair
The inventory ledger lay open on the oak table, its pages stained with the damp of the cellar and the grease of my hands. I signed the receipt for the dried lilies, the quantity noted in the cramped, precise script that Master Aldous had drilled into me since I was a boy of twelve. The ink was still wet, a dark smear against the parchment, as I looked up to see the master sitting in his...
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