The Wistful Witness
The letter from the Debtors’ Office lay on the desk, its edges soft and frayed from the thumb that had turned them over a hundred times. It was a simple thing, a list of numbers that amounted to a sentence: six months in the county gaol for my father, unless the debt of forty pounds was settled by the first of November. I read the figures again, the ink smudged where my father’s hand had...
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