The Pale Garden
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the world outside the window into a watercolor painting left out in the drizzle, blurring the edges of the oak trees and the stone wall until they were nothing but smudges of brown and green. Inside the house, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper, a smell that had settled into the floorboards and...
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