The Wistful Letter
The ledger weighed four pounds, six ounces. Thomas Hale held it in his gloved hands, feeling the dampness seep through the leather, a cold sweat that was not his own. He counted the pages, one by one, the paper sticking together with the humidity of the Blackwood Station walls. He had been constable here for three years, and in that time, the building had grown heavier, not in weight, but in...
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