The Wistful Letter
The ink was still wet on the date, 14th November 1893, when Arthur Penhaligon’s hand trembled against the heavy oak of the desk, a shudder that traveled up his forearm and settled, cold and hard, in his chest. He was forty-five years old, a man who had managed the estates of the Ashworth family for two decades without a single ledger error, yet his fingers, stained with the soot of the cellar...
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