The Wistful Dinner
The table was set for six. There were only two of us. It was a long oak table, dark with age and varnish, stretching across the dining room like a bridge over a dry river. The candles had been lit. The wax pooled in small, amber lakes on the silver holders. The smell of roasting lamb hung in the air, thick and sweet, mixed with the sharp tang of rosemary and the dusty scent of old paper. My...
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