The Wistful Witness
The letter lay on the steel bench, its edges crisp against the gritty surface of the workroom floor, and you read it twice, the ink drying under the harsh fluorescent lights before your eyes could fully process the weight of the words. It was a standard rejection form, Form 7-B, printed in the same sterile, sans-serif typeface as the rest of the Mint’s bureaucratic machinery, but the reason for...
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