The Wistful Skyline
The deed is in your hand, the paper yellowed and brittle at the corners, and you wait for the foreman to sign, but he does not sign; he merely turns the document over in his long, pale fingers, examining the ink as if it were a foreign currency he suspected of being counterfeit. "A fine mechanism," he says, his voice smooth as oiled silk, "but I must be certain of the gears before I commit the...
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