The Wistful Skyline
The ledger was three hundred and twelve pages thick, bound in leather that had gone the color of dried blood, and it weighed as much as a brick of wet clay. I had been counting the hours for forty years, not the seconds, and now, with the fiscal year bleeding out into the winter mud, I had six weeks to secure my pension by cataloging the unclaimed estate of the late Duke of Halloway. The...
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