The Pale Dance

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2026-08-20 11:09:53 -

The Pale Dance

The clock in the hall had stopped at three o’clock. It had been stopped for six months, since the winter Margaret’s husband, Arthur, had taken his last breath in the chair by the fire. The pendulum hung still, a heavy brass tongue frozen in its mouth. Margaret Holloway stood before it, her fingers hovering near the glass face. The dust motes in the afternoon light seemed to hang suspended in...

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