The Faded Attic
The letter lay on the kitchen table, its seal broken, the paper yellowed and brittle as a dried leaf, and Thomas Bradshaw held it in his hands as if it were a living thing that might bite him, reading the words over and over until the ink blurred into a single, indistinguishable smear of accusation, because to accept the truth was to admit that he had been a fool, a gullible man who had trusted...
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