The Wistful Dinner
The rot had set in not from the outside, but from the marrow of the wood itself, a slow, sweet decay that the varnish could no longer hide, and it was this silence that hung in the air of the parlor on the night Thomas brought the bird, a heavy, wet silence that smelled of damp wool and old pipe tobacco and the metallic tang of fear that seemed to have permeated the very wallpaper, a texture we...
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