The Wistful Show
The ledger in the Abbot’s hand was thick as a slab of river stone, its pages swollen with the weight of three months’ accounts, and he moved the quill across the parchment with the slow, deliberate care of a man measuring out his own breath. He counted the sacks of grain, the barrels of oil, the bolts of wool, and the coins owed to the miller in the valley below, each entry a small, dry fact...
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