The Distant Ghost
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Asylum for the Elderly was a cathedral of linoleum and low ceilings, but on this night, it felt like the throne room of a dying empire. The air was thick with the scent of boiled cabbage and floor wax, a pungent perfume that clung to the wool cardigans of the residents. Margaret Holloway stood at the center of the room, not at a table, but in the aisle, her...
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