The Faded Attic
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the gravel of Millbrook into a slick, muddy river, and it was in this atmosphere of damp stagnation that Elias Thorne, a man whose hands had once sculpted the finest walnut in the county, packed his tools into a rusted duffel bag, preparing to leave his wife, Clara, for the last time, the air between them so thick...
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