The Faded River
The ledger lay open on the scarred oak desk, its spine cracked, the pages yellowed and stiff with age. Thomas held the book with both hands, his knuckles white against the leather, waiting for the signature that would prove his father’s debt was settled. The air in the mill office smelled of damp wool and stale tobacco, a heavy, cloying scent that seemed to settle in the lungs. Mr. Hale sat...
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