The Faded Guest
The coat was still on the hook. It hung there in the hallway of the flat in Bristol, a heavy thing of charcoal wool. The buttons were brass. They had worn smooth by years of thumbing. It was the only thing in the room that did not change. The wallpaper had peeled. The floorboards had bowed. The light in the window shifted with the seasons, but the coat remained. It was a monument to a man who...
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