The Distant Promise
The ledger in Thorne’s hand weighed four ounces, a precise and damning measure of the city’s sickness. He had spent the morning counting the hours of labor lost to the coughing fits that shook the men in the district, tallying the sacks of flour turned to mold, the coins spent on tinctures that did not work, and the stitches holding together the torn skin of a man who had scrubbed too hard. The...
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