The Pale Path
The letter lay on the desk, the paper thin and brittle as a dried leaf, the ink faded to a brown that matched the dust caked on Elias’s boots. He read it three times, the words blurring as the fog pressed against the archive window, thick and grey and smelling of wet stone. The notice from the infirmary was clear: the arrears for his mother’s care had reached forty pounds, a sum that would...
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