The Wistful Witness
The ledger was open on the desk, its pages thick with the weight of six years’ silence. I placed the foreclosure notice from the county clerk on the blotter, the paper crisp and yellowing at the edges, a stark contrast to the damp, grey air of the office. Warden Ashworth did not look up from his own work, his quill scratching a steady, rhythmic line across a form that seemed to have no end. I...
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