The Distant Whispers
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the world into a blur of wet pavement and dripping eaves, and I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the water pool in the gutters outside the window of the room we had shared for twenty years. My left hand lay open on the duvet, the skin pulled tight over the knuckles, the nails short and unpolished, a hand that had...
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