Think About How Many People Touch It

Thadeus’s money problems have little to do with getting it, and almost entirely to do with two things:

1. Where to put it.

2. How dirty it is.

It’s fucking gross, if you’re wondering.  He tries to sort the stacks, packing the cleanest, crispest bills into nice little boxes, and leaving heap after crumpled heap of stained paper on tables, floors, mantles.

“Is this blood?” he asks the apparently empty room.

“Maybe,” says Gloucester, who’s buried behind some piles in the corner.  “Probably.”

“That’s vile.”

“That,” says the muffled voice, “is the price you pay for not caring where it comes from.”

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