The Wistful Dinner
The oak table in the refectory of St. Jude’s Abbey was not merely furniture; it was a geological formation of scarred wood and dried varnish, a landscape that had swallowed the prayers of ten generations of monks and the complaints of three hundred years of weary brothers. Brother Thomas sat at its far end, his hands folded over the rough, coarse wool of his tunic, feeling the familiar, dull...
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