The Faded Dust
The coat lay on the chair in the corner of the interrogation room, a heavy thing of charcoal wool that had once belonged to a man of substance, now worn thin at the elbows and smelling faintly of stale tobacco and the metallic tang of fear. It was a garment that had seen better days, its lining frayed where it had been rubbed by the nervous hands of its last owner, a piece of clothing that had...
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