The Wistful Show
The rain hit the window like a fist. Dr. Elias Thorne wiped the glass. His breath fogged the cold pane. He was a man of papers. Of quiet rooms. Of dust. "You’re doing it again," said Sarah. She stood in the doorway. Her coat was wet. Her hair stuck to her cheeks. She looked tired. She looked afraid. "I am observing," Elias said. "Observing," she repeated. The word tasted like chalk. "You’re...
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