The Golden Downtown
The tea in the porcelain cup had gone cold, a dark, stagnant pool that mirrored the dust motes dancing in the shaft of light cutting through the heavy velvet curtains, and Margaret sat with her hands folded so tightly in her lap that the knuckles had turned the color of old bone, waiting for the silence of the house to speak to her, for the air itself to confess the truth that had been...
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