The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-20 22:49:44 -

I dreamed of the coat. It hung in a dark closet. The wool was grey. It smelled of old smoke. I reached for it. My fingers brushed the fabric. It felt cold. It felt heavy. I woke up. The rain was on the glass. I was in a cell. The walls were stone. They were damp. I had been there for three days. My name is Thomas Bradshaw. I was a soldier. I was a man of duty. I believed in the chain. I...

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