The Pale Shadows
"Put it down, Thomas." I did not move. The coat hung heavy in my hands. Wool. Dark blue. Worn at the elbows. It smelled of pipe smoke and old paper. "Thomas." "Is it not yours, Professor?" "It is not for you to decide." "Then let me decide." I hung it on the chair. The wood creaked. A low, dry sound. The room was quiet. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light from the window. The light...
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