The Wistful Silence
The notice pinned to the corkboard in the registrar’s office read: All displaced persons must present their factory register page by dawn or be considered erased. Vincenzo Marino stared at the yellowed paper, his thumb rubbing the rough edge of the child’s page he had sold for cheap, the one that had secured his patent and now cost him his life. He was thirty-two, a garrison commander in a...
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