The Faded River
The coat was the first thing she lost, or perhaps the last, depending on how one measured the erosion of a self. It was a garment of heavy wool, the color of dried blood and old earth, cut in a style that had passed from favor twenty years prior. Margaret wore it always. Not because it was warm, though it was, nor because it was handsome, though it was, but because it was the only thing that...
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