The Wistful Dinner
The wool of the coat was heavy, a dark, dense fabric that had absorbed the dampness of the London streets and the particular, metallic chill of the winter air. You held it in your hands, the sleeves dragging on the tablecloth, feeling the weight of the weave as if it were a physical burden, a anchor for a mind that had long since begun to drift away from the solid ground of academic...
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