The Wistful Cipher
The cipher is not a code. It is a map. I have told you this. I have written it in the margin of the form, the one with the ink still wet, the one that smells of the damp cellar where I keep the paper. You look at me as if I am mad. You look at me as if I have forgotten how to file a report, how to stamp a document, how to keep the silence that is the only currency we have left. But I am not...
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