The Wistful Incense
The bell above the door of the Antiquarian Society of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it sighed, a low, metallic exhalation that seemed to drain the air from the foyer each time a visitor entered. I stood at my desk, a mahogany altar of dust and ledger books, watching the light filter through the high, grimy windows, illuminating the swirling motes that danced in the stillness like suspended...
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