The Wistful Voyage
October 12, 1904 The ink in my pen had dried to a crust when I finally lifted the ledger from the desk. The numbers for the East Ward disposal were wrong, a discrepancy of three tons over the last quarter, minor enough to be overlooked by any eye but mine. I rubbed my temples, the headache a dull throb behind my eyes, a symptom of the damp air that seemed to seep through the walls of the...
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