The Faded Road
The ledger weighed three pounds, two ounces. Elias knew this because he had weighed it on the brass scale in the back room every morning for the past forty days, since the fever first took hold. He wanted to keep the ink black. He wanted to keep the name *Arthur Whitmore* legible. The opposing force was the heat in his own blood, a dry, scratching fire that made the paper feel like sandpaper...
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