The Distant Crown
The fire took the roof at dawn. It did not roar. It whispered, a dry, rustling sound like old paper being torn, until the smoke was thick enough to swallow the sun. We stood on the cobblestones, a circle of neighbors in nightgowns and shirtsleeves, watching the beams of the Ashworth house collapse into the gutters. There was no one inside. There had been no one inside for weeks. I watched the...
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