The Wistful Show
The heavy oak doors of the town hall swung open with a groan that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, admitting a flood of amber light and the thick, cloying scent of roasted meats, spilled wine, and the damp wool of a hundred coats that had just been shed in the cloakroom, where the air hung stagnant and sweet with the memory of rain that had fallen for three days without ceasing. Sir Aldous...
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