The Distant Cartograph
The letter from the Highland Railway Company lay on the table, the ink still wet and smelling of iron, detailing the final deduction from my pension should the survey of the Glen Moray section not be certified by the first of November. I read it twice, the paper gritty under my thumb, while the wind outside screamed against the shingles of the ruined chapel, a sound like a man trying to break a...
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