The guard measured Willa Dent’s doorway while her breakfast cooled behind it.
Lyra stopped at the bottom of the old wall stair.
A land clerk stood beside the guard, writing the width beneath a column headed unoccupied structures.
Willa looked at the column.
“Shall I go back inside so you can check?”
“It refers to the registered status,” the clerk said.
“It doesn’t refer to my door.”
Another guard pinned a request for tenancy papers to a post. Across the lane, Harl climbed down from the gutter he had finished repairing yesterday.
