The Pale Tower
The graphite smudge on the page is a small, dark bruise, a mark of friction that speaks to the pressure of the nib against the wet paper, and I am staring at it because the number in the column does not match the number in the register, a discrepancy of four hundred and twelve gallons that should be nothing, a rounding error, but here it is, pulsing with the same slow, rhythmic heaviness as the...
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