The Pale Bridge
The letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet, the paper stiff with the cold of the room. It was a resignation, simple and final, intended for Director Vane before the winter freeze set in. I wanted out. Twenty years of service, twenty years of keeping the ledger balanced, and my hands shook too much to sign the daily reports. I picked up the pen, the nib scratching against the cotton paper,...
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