The Wistful Ashes
You know what they say about the Ministry, don’t you? That the ink is drier than the blood. Vane said it with a smile that didn’t reach the corners of his mouth, standing in the doorway of the sub-basement, his shadow stretching long across the linoleum which was peeling in the corners like old skin. He was holding a ledger, thick and bound in black leather, and he pushed it toward me with two...
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