The Wistful Letter
You hold the bone. It is white. It is dry. It fits in your palm like a secret you have kept too long. The room is small. The walls are thick stone. The air is cold. You are a bone-setter. You have been one for forty years. Your hands are rough. Your back is stiff. The clock on the mantel ticks. It is a loud tick. It is the only sound. Your apprentice is there. He is young. His name is Thomas....
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