The Distant Garden
The ivy does not grow, Elias, it accumulates, and it is the accumulation that has made you a man of thirty-two years who cannot look at a ledger without seeing a face staring back. You stand before Magistrate Alderman Vane in his office, which smells of damp wool and the sharp, metallic tang of rusted hinges, and you tell him you are resigning your post as municipal clerk, not because you are...
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