The Distant Ghost
The paper is damp, Aram, you cannot file it in this state. I held the deed to my father’s land out with both hands, my fingers stained black with the peat smoke that clung to everything in the valley, and watched the clerk, Davit, pull it back as if it were a dead rat. He was young, only twenty-six, with the kind of clean, arrogant face that only the government could produce, and he looked at...
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