The Faded Attic
The boarding house dining room was full that last September, the long oak table stretched to its limit with men in stiff collars and women in dark serge, the air thick with the steam of boiled beef and the murmur of polite, desperate conversation. Mrs. Holloway presided from the head, her silver hair pinned tight, her smile a fixed and brittle thing, and beside her sat her son, Peter, eleven...
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