The Faded Guest
The coat was hanging on the back of the chair by the window, a heavy thing of wool and silence that had seen better days, and I stood in the center of the room looking at it as if it were a corpse that had not yet cooled, the air in the flat thick with the smell of damp wool and the faint, metallic tang of the street below where the trams were clattering along their tracks in a rhythm that...
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