The Wistful Letter
The nib of the pen scraped against the heavy cream paper, a sound that grated in Arthur Vane’s ears like a rat chewing through the floorboards of the counting house. He sat in the back office of the Meridian Insurance Company, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and the metallic tang of the ink he had just ground, and he stared at the blank page before him. It was November, 1893, and the...
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