The Wistful Voyage
The clipboard held six forms. Three were signed. Two were pending. One was blank, waiting for the name of the last family to be evicted from the Miller tract. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the property line, his hand resting on the iron gate, feeling the cold metal seep into his palm. He was fifty-two years old. His heart beat in a rhythm that was no longer his own, a stuttering clockwork...
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