The Wistful Letter
Chapter One The river does not forgive the weight of what it carries, yet it moves with a patience that mocks the frantic industry of men who believe they can master the current. Antonio Duarte sat in the damp basement of the Palace of the Dukes, his back pressed against the stone wall that wept with the humidity of the Porto marshes, and watched the ink in his well refuse to flow. He was...
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