The Wistful Incense
Act I Lotus root, dried, Grade A: twelve pounds. The ledger entry in the corner of the desk was written in ink that had not yet dried, the nib scratching a final, decisive line that Walter Sturgis intended to hold against the weight of the world. He was a man of forty years, though the mirror in the brass frame of his workshop had begun to show him a face older than his trade, a face that...
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