The Distant Affair
The wool coat was heavy, not with weight, but with the accumulated silence of a decade. It was a garment of deep, bruised indigo, the fabric so worn that it had become soft as skin, holding the shape of the man who had worn it long after he had ceased to be a boy. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the village square, the autumn wind whipping the hem of the coat around his ankles, and watched...
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