The Faded Bouquet
The air in the basement of the old manor was not merely stale but curdled, a thick, gelatinous suspension of dust and damp that seemed to resist the very act of breathing, forcing Eleanor Ashworth to draw each inhalation through a clenched jaw as if she were swallowing stones rather than oxygen. She stood before the massive, iron-bound trunk that had been the sole possession of her late...
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