The Wistful Letter
The ledger lay open on the desk, its pages stiff with age, the ink faded to a brownish grey that matched the dust coating Elias Thorne’s spectacles. He traced the column of expenditures with a trembling finger, the numbers blurring as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the library. Fourteen years of restoration, fourteen years of draining his inheritance, all to prove that he could hold back...
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