The Wistful Voyage
The pencil was broken, the lead snapped clean through the graphite core, and I held it up to the slanting afternoon light that cut through the dust motes in the ledger room. It was a cheap thing, a yellow stick from the general store, but it had served me for three weeks without complaint until the moment I needed it to mark the discrepancy in the coal intake. Outside, the Blackwood Mill...
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