The Faded Bouquet
The parchment was brittle, the ink faded to a rust-brown, but the words were clear enough to cut. You read it again, the edge of the paper digging into your thumb. It was a debt ledger, itemized in the hand of Alderman Silas Vane. Three bushels of rye. Two sacks of oats. One sheep, dead in the winter. The total was forty shillings, a sum that would buy a new plowshare and still leave enough for...
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