The Faded Frequency
The ledger had four hundred and twelve pages, and Elias Thorne had counted them three times since the rain began to streak the attic window in grey, vertical lines. His fingers, stained with the iron-gall ink that had seeped through the binding, trembled not from cold, though the November air in the cramped space above the bookbinders’ shop was biting, but from the sheer mechanical strain of...
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