The Distant Affair
The envelope on the kitchen table was thick, the paper heavy and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the vanilla soap Mrs. Gable used in her office. Elias Thorne stared at the wax seal, broken and jagged, before he even touched it. He was forty-two, a man whose hands were permanently stained with chalk dust and ink, and he had been waiting for this letter for six months. It was the pension...
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