The Wistful Voyage
The ledger lay open on the desk, its pages stiff with the cold damp of the October morning. Elias Thorne held a quill, the ink dark and wet against the parchment, and waited for the sound of his master’s pen to scratch across the page. It did not come. Mr. Gable sat in the high-backed chair, his face turned toward the window where the grey sea churned against the harbor stones, and he did not...
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