The Wistful Witness
The house stood at the end of the lane like a broken tooth, its timber frame blackened by centuries of rain and smoke, and Thomas Bradshaw watched it from the back of the truck with a heaviness in his chest that had nothing to do with the damp air. He was leaving. That was the order, final and irrevocable, signed by the magistrate who had once called him a pillar of the community and now...
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