The Distant Summer
You cannot keep what you do not own, Mr. Thorne. The council’s notice was posted three weeks ago, and the debt is not a matter of sentiment, it is a matter of arithmetic, and the arithmetic is finished. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the dilapidated study, his hand resting on the warped frame, feeling the grit of dust and the metallic tang of rusted hinges on his fingers. He was fifty-two...
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