The Pale Verdict
The notice from the bank lay on the kitchen table, its edges crisp and white against the dark, varnished wood. It was a letter of final warning, the paper thin enough to see the grain of the table through it, and the ink smelled faintly of iron and cold water. Clara Vane read it twice, her fingers tracing the indentations of the typed letters, feeling the specific weight of the debt that had...
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