The Wistful Petal
The ledger showed four hundred and twelve hours of labor remaining before the deadline, a number that sat on the desk like a heavy, cold stone. I weighed the pencil in my hand, a standard No. 2 graphite, and calculated its mass against the weight of the debt my father owed the bank. If I did not complete the load-bearing calculations for the Harrowgate Textile Mill by Friday, the pension fund...
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