The Faded Portrait
The banquet hall of St. Jude’s Industrial Institute for the Physically Challenged did not smell of food, but of damp wool, boiled starch, and the faint, metallic tang of ozone that seemed to permeate the very walls. It was a long, cavernous room under a vaulted ceiling where the gaslights sputtered and hissed, casting long, trembling shadows that danced across the polished oak floor like...
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