The Wistful Letter
The paper was thin, translucent in the grey light of the attic room, and Elias held it with hands that trembled not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the arithmetic. It was a bill from the apothecary, itemizing the cost of the tonic that might save Clara, his wife, who lay in the bed below breathing like a bird with a fractured wing. The total was forty pounds, a sum that...
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