The Wistful Atlas
"Did you find the salt ledger, or are you just wasting the lamp oil?" The question hung in the damp air of the archive, sharp and cold as the September frost that had taken us by surprise. I looked up from the drafting table, my fingers stained black with iron gall ink. I was Panagiotis Economou, and I had come to this remote outpost in the Cypriot interior to finish my atlas before the winter...
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