The Wistful Silence
The rain had been falling on the roof of St. Jude’s Hospital for three days without a break, a persistent, grey drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the marrow of Margaret’s bones, creating a low, throbbing hum that she had long since stopped hearing consciously but which now sat in her chest like a second, slower heartbeat, a rhythm that dictated the pace of her...
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