The Distant Affair
The frost had not yet melted on the windowpane when you woke, a thin lattice of ice that caught the grey morning light and threw it back in fractured shards. You lay still for a long moment, listening to the tick of the clock in the hallway, a sound that seemed to mark the passage of time in heavy, reluctant seconds. You were a restorer of clocks, a man who spent his days coaxed the internal...
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