The Golden Echoes
The rain hit the glass. It was a cold, hard sound. Inside, the air was still. Clara sat on the floor. She held the coat. It was red. Once, it had been bright. Now it was dull. The wool was thin. The elbows were bare. She rubbed the fabric. It felt like skin that had been scraped raw. She was in the kitchen. The light was yellow. The bulb buzzed. A low, persistent hum. It filled the room. It...
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