The Distant Cartograph
The chandelier in the Ashworth ballroom held three hundred candles, each flame trembling slightly in the draft that seeped from the high, arched windows. Arthur stood in the center of the floor, his twelve-year-old frame rigid beneath a suit that was slightly too large in the shoulders, his eyes fixed not on the dancing guests but on the massive wooden model of the St. Jude’s Bridge that...
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