The Wistful Throne
The ledger had to balance, or the pension office in the county seat would flag the file, and Elias Thorne did not have the patience for a flag. He counted the ink cartridges, three red, two blue, and weighed them against the requisition form for the month of October, the paper thin and soft from being handled too many times. Twenty years he had served at Blackwood Penitentiary, twenty years of...
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