The Distant Metropolis
The air in the dining room was thick, heavy with the scent of roasted lamb and the sweet, cloying perfume of the lilies in the center vase. Margaret sat at the head of the long oak table, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her fingers pale and still. Around her, the room hummed with the low, rhythmic clatter of silverware against porcelain, the soft murmur of conversation that sounded to her...
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