The Golden Oath
The letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet, smelling faintly of iron and regret. It was a writ of debt, signed by the clerk in the county seat, stating that Silas Thorne, aged nineteen, had failed to pay his bond and would be held in the debtor’s cell until the sum of forty dollars was met. I read it twice, the paper trembling in my hands not from cold, but from the weight of the number. I...
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