The Wistful Voyage
The ledger weighed four pounds, three ounces, and the ink on the final page was still wet when I set it on the desk. I counted the hours I had spent in the fog that morning, walking from the station to Vane’s solicitor’s office, and I found myself short by twenty minutes, a gap in my memory that felt like a missing tooth. The dampness on my left wrist was there, as it always was, a cold smear...
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