The Faded Root
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Memorial Institute for the Rehabilitation of the Aged and the Infirmed smelled of boiled cabbage and floor wax, a pungent olfactory signature that had permeated the walls so thoroughly that it seemed less a smell than a resident, an invisible tenant who sat at the head of every table and whispered to the staff. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the...
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