• The Pale Fracture
    --- I thought if I could map the cracks, I could hold the whole thing together. That was my delusion—my quiet, professional delusion—as a restorer of manuscripts at the British Museum's paper conservation laboratory. For twelve years, I knelt over the fragile economies of dead writers: watermarks like ghost lace, foxing blooms the colour of dried tea, the pale fractures that run through two...
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