The Distant Summer
The ledger on Elias Thorne’s desk counted the days, not the hours, a rigid arithmetic of ink and paper that had replaced the gavel he had wielded for twelve years before the scandal stripped him of his robes and left him with a clerk’s stool and a salary of forty dollars a week. He was thirty-two, though the premature gray at his temples suggested a man who had aged in the gap between the...
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