The Wistful Dinner
The table was long. Too long for the room. It stretched from the door to the window, a plank of dark oak that seemed to suck the light out of the air. We sat on either side. Twelve of us. I counted them. Twelve faces looking back at me from the dim glow of the tallow candles. The flames were short. They guttered in the draft from the open window. Outside, the rain hit the slate roof. A steady,...
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