The Distant Wound
14th of October, 1942. The ledger is open, and the ink is dry. I have just recorded the departure of Silas Vane, Senior Archivist, effective immediately. He did not ask for permission; he simply packed his satchel, which contained nothing but a change of clothes and a tin of black tea, and walked out of the Ashenworks into the grey morning. I wanted to stop him. I wanted to tell him that his...
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