The Faded River
The house smells of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of the furnace oil that has been leaking into the cellar since the autumn storms broke the eaves, a scent that has seeped into the very grain of the floorboards and into the lungs of everyone who lives here, making it difficult to breathe without a sense of suffocating claustrophobia, and you stand in the center of the kitchen, your...
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