The Wistful Ashes
The gray wool coat hangs on the back of the chair. It is not a coat of elegance. It is a coat of duty. The fabric is rough, worn thin at the elbows, the color of storm clouds that never break. You know this coat. You have worn it for thirty years. It is the only thing you own that belongs to you. The rest belongs to the State. The rest belongs to the Order. The coat is a mirror of your soul,...
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