The Wistful Grid
The heavy wool coat hung in the center of the room, suspended from a brass hook that had long since lost its shine to the damp air of the archive. It was a garment of profound dignity, cut wide and deep in the shoulders, the fabric a thick, charcoal gray tweed that had once repelled the sleet of a hundred winters. Now, however, the elbows were thin, the fabric worn through to a translucent mesh...
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