The Faded Quadrant
The ledger lay open on the table, its pages brittle as dried leaves, the ink faded to a ghostly brown. You stared at the column of dates, the numbers bleeding into one another, and the light from the gas lamp caught the dust motes dancing in the air. It was 1904, and the smell of coal smoke was so thick in Oakhaven it seemed to have weight, pressing against the windows of the police station....
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