The Wistful Witness
The question is whether the ink dries before the blood does, and I am the one holding the pen. I am Vera Kozlov, and the air in the archive smells of damp wool and the metallic tang of old paper, a scent that has seeped into the lining of my coat and the pores of my hands. I have been here for twenty years, testing the fat content of milk in a dairy lab that no longer exists, and now I test the...
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