The Pale Bonsai
The silk scarf was a violent shade of cerulean blue, a color that seemed to vibrate against the dull beige of the wallpaper in the study where Arthur Pemberton sat, his fingers tracing the woven patterns with a reverence that bordered on the grotesque. It was a piece of high art, or so he claimed, a relic of his late wife’s obsession with textile history, now the only thing in the house that...
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