The Pale Bridge
The letter lay on the desk, the paper yellowed and brittle, the ink faded to the color of dried rust. It was an eviction notice, or rather, a final demand for the arrears on the stone crossing that my sister, Clara, had left in my care. I signed it. The signature was a jagged scratch, the pen scratching against the grain of the wood, a sound that seemed too loud in the silent office. I folded...
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