The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-19 12:32:19 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray veil that turned the cobblestones of the village square into slick, black mirrors. Thomas Bradshaw stood beneath the eaves of the old stone chapel, his hands wrapped around a clay mug that had long since gone cold. The ceramic was rough against his palms, chipped at the rim, a small imperfection in the uniformity of the grey...

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