The Pale Letter
The letter lay on the desk, its edges curling in the damp air of the inspection office, the ink still wet with the specific, aggressive black of official refusal. Arthur Vane picked it up, the paper slick and cold against his calloused fingertips, and read the words that stripped him of his pension, his status, and his life’s work. He was a textile inspector, a man of measurements and margins,...
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