The Old Embroidery
The key turned in the lock with a sound like a sigh—long, metallic, and reluctant, as if the lock itself did not wish to be opened after forty years of silence. Rosalind Thorne stepped into her great-aunt Evangeline's embroidery room and felt the dust settle around her like a curtain. The room was exactly as Evangeline had left it, except smaller. In Evangeline's time, the room had been a...
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