The Pale Banner
The hall was too bright. Too loud. Clara stood by the window, holding a glass of water she had not sipped. The party for the Department’s centennial swirled around her in a blur of silver gowns and cheap champagne. She watched the rain streak down the glass. It fell in straight lines. Predictable. She was sixty-two. Her hair was grey. It was pulled back tight. She wore a blue dress. It was...
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