The Distant Garden
The letter lay on the mahogany desk, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the study. It was from Mr. Vance, the new owner of Blackwood Hall, and the ink was still wet when I read it. He demanded a survey of the foundation by Friday. He wanted proof that the house would stand for another century, or he would sell it to the demolition men. I signed the receipt at the bottom, my hand...
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