The Distant Metropolis
The bill for the re-inking of the third ledger was pinned to the oak desk with a rusted nail, its edge curling slightly as the damp air of the archive curled it further. I read the sum, two silver crowns and a half, and felt a cold prickle of indignation rise in my throat, for I had not authorized the purchase, nor did I see the need for such an extravagant expenditure on a text that had...
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