The Distant Affair
The steam from the ironing board curled into the damp air of the parlor like a ghost refusing to dissipate, carrying with it the heavy, medicinal scent of lavender and the sharper, more metallic tang of the rust that had begun to eat the legs of the table, a rust that Miriam Whitmore watched with the same detached, forensic attention she once reserved for the ledgers of the firm where she had...
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