The Gilded Visit
The chimes of St. Jude's rang eleven times, each one hammering gold into the cold November air. Eleanor Vane sat in her armchair by the window, a letter opener turned sideways in her palm, watching the streetlamp below throw its amber cone across the empty pavement. She had been waiting for seven years. Not in the way young girls wait—knees drawn to chest, forehead against glass, breath...
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