The Pale Mist
The letter lay on the kitchen table, its paper thick and cream-colored, the ink a sharp, formal black. It was from Mayor Vance, and it did not ask for my opinion; it stated a fact. The Harrowgate Mill was structurally unsound. The load-bearing beams in the north wall had failed. The grant I had spent three years compiling, the one that would save the building and my pension, was denied. I read...
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