The Distant Affair
The wax seal had cracked before the third hour of the night, and Thomas Bradshaw counted the drops of black gall ink that had already ruined the parchment’s edge, four, five, six, each one a small, spreading bruise on the white skin of the page. He was twelve years old, and his fingers were raw from the cold damp of the scriptorium, a chill that seeped up through the stone floor and into the...
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