The Distant Garden
The coat is wet. You know it is wet. The wool has drunk the rain until it weighs a stone against your shoulders. It is a heavy thing. It is a bad thing. You wear it because you have nothing else. You are Thomas. You are in the house of the King’s cousin. The house is old. The floorboards creak like old bones. You stand by the fire. The fire is small. It is dying. You look at the coat. It is...
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