The Distant Affair
The ledger lay open on the desk, its spine cracked, the pages swollen with the damp of the November air. Elias Thorne counted the hours he had spent staring at the same line of figures, the ink smudged where his thumb had rested too long. He was forty years old, and his hands, which had signed half the marriage certificates in the county, trembled as he adjusted his spectacles. The office was...
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