The Faded Road
The ink bled upward, defying the grain of the paper, rising like a dark vein against the cream of the ledger page, and I watched it climb with the detached precision of a man observing a leak in a pipe rather than a violation of the natural order. It was the winter of 1924, and the air in the archive room of the Halloway Textile Mill was thick with the scent of old paper and the damp chill that...
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