The Wistful Letter
The coat was red. It had been red once. Now it was the color of dried blood. Or rust. It hung on the back of a chair in the corner of the office. A chair that faced the window. The window looked out onto the gray expanse of the city. Rain streaked the glass. Dr. Elias Thorne stared at it. He did not touch it. He could not touch it. His hands shook. They always shook now. The tremor started in...
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