The Garden of Forgotten Letters
Rain fell on the leaden windows of the Beauregard townhouse like a thousand small fists. Clara sat at her mother's writing desk, the ribbon in her hands black with age, the letters beneath it yellowed and brittle as autumn leaves. She had been looking for a receipt for the gas bill and found this instead—tucked inside a copy of the Vulgate Bible, wrapped in a ribbon that had once been crimson...
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