The Wistful Voyage
The ledger is in the red, Elias, and you’re not on it." Mr. Vane did not look up from his desk, his pen scratching a rhythm that felt less like writing and more like the grinding of millstones, the smell of the office a thick cloy of stale tobacco and the waxy, chemical scent of the black tea that sat in a silver pot on the corner, steaming with a vapor that tasted of iron when it drifted over...
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