The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-19 03:03:20 -

The silver tongs snapped in Dr. Arthur Penhaligon’s hand. He held the broken piece up to the gaslight. It was a small, twisted sliver of metal, cold and sharp. He looked at his wife, Eleanor. She stood by the window, her back to him, watching the rain streak the glass of the conservatory. The room was vast and dim, filled with the heavy scent of damp wool and old paper. The dinner party had...

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