The Pale Bonsai
The clock in the hall did not tick. It hummed, a low and persistent drone that seemed to vibrate in the teeth of anyone who lingered near it. Margaret Holloway stood before the grandfather case, her fingers resting lightly on the brass pendulum, feeling the heat of the metal seep into her skin. It was a heavy object, this timekeeper, constructed of dark mahogany and polished glass, and it had...
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