The Wistful Asylum
The letter lay on the iron gate, its edges soft and white with damp, the ink of the signature smudged where Thomas Ashworth had gripped it too tightly for the past three weeks. It was a simple document, three lines of typed text on heavy stock, promising a place at the City Legal Academy to the son of a deceased solicitor, but in the hands of the warden, Mr. Halloway, it became a tool of...
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