The Faded Paradox
"You’re the one who left the door open," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones, a sound like gravel shifting under the weight of a heavy cart, and I looked up from the cold iron of the bed frame where I had been sitting for three hours, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam of sunlight that cut through the boarded-up window of our parlor,...
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