The Faded Dust
The hall smelled of roasting goose and old stone. The air was thick. It hung heavy over the long oak tables. Candlelight flickered in the drafts. It caught the dust. The dust was grey. It settled on the tablecloth. It settled on the wine. It settled on Margaret’s face. She wiped it away. Her hand was stained with juice. Dark red. Like old blood. "You are looking at the roof again," said Thomas....
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