The Wistful Silence
The tea had gone cold, a stagnant brown pool in the chipped porcelain cup. Elias set it down with a thud that echoed in the hollow silence of the shop, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the soles of his boots. He did not look up. He kept his eyes fixed on the grain of the oak table, tracing the whorls with a thumb that was stiff with arthritis and older sorrows....
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