The Golden Greenhouse
The rain had stopped. The garden lay wet and silent. A man stood by the glass door. He held a brass key in his hand. It was cold. It was heavy. "Go away," said the voice behind him. It was his wife’s voice. But it was not his wife. It was his mother. She was dead. She had been dead for ten years. "Mother," he said. "You are late." He turned. The room was empty. The wallpaper was peeling. The...
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