The Distant Threshold
"Notice of Cancellation: The Wartime Contract for Cloud-Silk Weaving is hereby terminated effective immediately. The Reclamation Yard is to be cleared by dusk." The paper smelled of damp iron and stale tobacco. Randi Berg held it against the window of the boarding school kitchen, where the light before the hailstorm turned the air a sickly, bruised green. She was thirty years old, her hands...
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