The Distant Legend
The transfer letter was already in Arthur’s hand, the paper crinkled at the corners from being folded and unfolded in his pocket for three days. He stood in the doorway of his cramped office in the municipal annex, the fluorescent light buzzing a low, sickly B-flat that had drilled itself into his skull over the last six months. On the desk lay the inventory of his resignation: a box of manila...
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