The Distant Clue
The rain hit the cobblestones like a thousand small hammers. It was the feast. The Millers’ wedding. Everyone was there. You stood by the window. Your glass was empty. You did not ask for more. Margaret was in the center of the room. She wore white. It was not pure white. It was the white of old paper. The white of bone. She looked at you. Her eyes were dark. Deep wells. You looked away. You...
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