The Wistful Atlas
The letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet and smelling of iron, a sharp contrast to the dust that coated the brass legs of the chair. It was a rejection, written in the cramped, efficient hand of Mr. Thorne, the Senior Underwriter, and it stripped Elias Vane of his access to the ledgers effective immediately. Elias stared at the words *sentimental error*, feeling the cold weight of the...
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