The Golden Cellar
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey curtain that blurred the boundary between the cobblestones of the lane and the deep, muddy ditch that ran alongside it, and I stood at the crossroads with my wife’s heavy wool shawl wrapped tight around my shoulders, feeling the dampness seep through the fabric until it became a second skin, cold and clinging, much like the guilt that had...
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