The Faded Bouquet
The letter from the physician was thick with ink, the words cramped and urgent, demanding payment for the third week of Clara’s confinement. I held the paper under the dim gaslight of the night watchman’s booth, the flame sputtering as a draft slipped through the cracked window. The sum was impossible. My wage, meager and delayed, would not cover the rent, let alone the medicine that kept...
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