The Divided Faith
The champagne in the crystal flute was a pale, shimmering gold, but to Eleanor, it tasted of nothing. Around her, the penthouse buzzed with the frantic energy of 1924 New York—the roar of the jazz band, the scent of expensive tobacco, and the desperate laughter of people trying to outrun the memory of a war that had ended years ago but never truly stopped. Arthur stood by the balcony, his...
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