the wooden worktable under the hanging light and set it down.
“Breathe first,” she said.
“How long has that been there?”
“Long enough.”
She opened the tin. Inside were papers. Not just a few. Thick, folded stacks held with disintegrating bands. Sealed envelopes. Old deeds. Bank statements. A cloth-wrapped key at the bottom. The dry smell of paper long continue reading …
