The Distant Legend
The ledger said I had three thousand, two hundred and forty-five pounds of flour left in the cellar, a number that felt heavier than the actual sacks stacked in the damp dark below. I counted the coins in my pocket for the fourth time, the silver heads worn smooth by my thumb, trying to match the weight of the metal to the weight of the fear settling in my stomach. I was forty-two years old, a...
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