The Faded Bouquet
"Put it in the bin." Margaret did not move. Her hands hovered over the table. The porcelain cup in her grip trembled. A thin line of tea escaped. It darkened the wood grain. The steam curled upward. It twisted into shapes. Shapes that had no name. "Margaret." She looked up. Thomas stood in the doorway. He wore his grey suit. The fabric clung to his frame. He looked like a statue carved from...
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