The Wistful Dinner
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the lower district into a slick, obsidian mirror that reflected the gas lamps in shivering, broken shards of amber light. It was a wet, suffocating kind of silence, the sort that settles over a house when the fever breaks but the ghost of the illness remains, lingering in the curtains and the heavy, dust-mote thick air. Julian...
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