The Sculptor's Inheritance
The manuscript smelled of tobacco and old paper. Julian O'Malley held it in both hands, feeling the weight of it the way a man might hold a child he was not sure he wanted. The pages were yellow, the ink brown with age, and the handwriting was a tight, precise Italian that his grandfather had brought from Sicily in a leather satchel in 1893. He opened to the first page and felt the world tilt....
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