The Distant Affair
The ledger lay in my hands, its spine cracked and its pages swollen with the grey slurry of the eastern wing’s collapse, the damp cold of it seeping into the knuckles of my right hand as I stood in the rubble of the St. Jude’s Municipal Library. It was a Tuesday in November, the air inside the building thick with the metallic taste of wet plaster and the low, constant hum of the emergency...
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