The Wistful Letter
Chapter One In the treaty ports of the Caribbean, silence was a commodity more valuable than sugar, and Oscar Dantès had spent twenty years buying it with his health. He sat in the locked union hall, the air thick with the metallic tang of lead and the damp rot of peat-burning smoke, his fingers stained grey from the typesetter’s trade. The box of type sat open on the table, missing its vowels,...
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