The Wistful Mirror
The accusation had been circulating in the town of Blackwood for three days, a whisper that had hardened into a shout by the time Elias Thorne found his name carved into the ledger of the old mill. He was thirty-two years old, a clerk of modest means and rigid habits, and the weight of the allegation that he had embezzled two hundred pounds from the community fund felt less like a legal charge...
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