The Distant Promise
The bill lay on the workbench, its paper yellowed by the damp, the ink smudged where my thumb had pressed it in a moment of blind, frantic hope. It was a debt of four hundred pounds, a sum that might have bought a new lathe or a year of coal, but to Lord Vane it was merely a ledger line, a figure to be balanced against the value of the brass pendulum that had hung in our shop since my father’s...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews