The Wistful Dinner
The carriage rattled over the cobblestones. It was a bad night for wheels. Mud clung to the iron rims. Margaret Holloway sat in the corner. She held her hat tight. The feathers drooped. She was tired. The journey had been long. From the village to the capital. From the small house to the high keep. She had walked for three days. Her feet bled. Now she rode. The carriage smelled of wet wool and...
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