The Faded Alibi
The entry in the ledger read: Sun, Y. — Tincture of Datura, 3 vials, missing. Wages: 14 months in arrears. I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. The cold in the longtang was a physical weight, pressing against the thin walls of the stockroom where I kept the unsold goods of the season. My husband, Abbot Chen, was coughing in the room below. The sound was wet, a tearing of fabric. I wanted...
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