The Distant Summer

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2026-08-17 13:11:18 -

The box was smaller than I remembered. It sat on the kitchen table, a battered thing of pine and brass, its corners worn smooth by years of handling. My hands trembled as I lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of faded velvet, lay the silver pocket watch. It had belonged to my father. Then it had belonged to Mr. Thorne. Now, it was mine. Or so I was told. Mr. Thorne was the man who owned...

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