The Weight of Forty Years
The brass clock on the mahogany mantel struck seven and Alexander Van Der Meer did not hear it. He stood at the window of his Fifth Avenue townhouse, watching the November rain slicken the cobblestones below, and felt nothing. Not the warmth of the coal fire at his back, not the familiar ache in his right knee that had been his companion since the Battle of Shiloh, not even the thrum of anxiety...
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