The Wistful Skyline
The notice lay on my desk, the paper thin and yellowed from the lamp’s heat. It was a list of deductions for the week, a ledger of small failures that added up to a wage barely enough to keep the coal fire going in my flat. I signed it without reading the total, my hand steady despite the ache in my wrist that had settled there three winters ago. Inspector Harrow watched me from the doorway,...
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