Through His Eyes (V-08)
I have always been a man of fragments. My life is a collection of broken things: shattered porcelain from the Ming dynasty, torn pages of forgotten diaries, and the fading glints of gemstones that have outlived their owners. My shop in the West Village is a mausoleum of these fragments, a place where I spend my days trying to glue the past back together. Then she walked in, and for the first...
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