The Wistful Voyage
The ledger was three pages short of the monthly tally, and Arthur Vane counted the entries twice, his pencil scratching a rhythm that matched the throb behind his eyes. He was forty years old, a widower of two years, and a clerk in the accounting office of the Hartwell Textile Mill, a position that required a precision he no longer possessed. The damp of the cellar office seeped through the...
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