The Golden Myth
You had sworn you would not go, yet there you were at the long table nearest the door, in your good brown suit that smelled of the wardrobe like a testimony to a life of small ceremonies, and the rain was combing itself through the iron roof of the church hall while the gramophone turned out a waltz older than everyone in the room, and the women of the Velesgrad Benevolent Society moved up and...
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