The Wistful Skyline
The great coat had been hanging on the back of the chair for forty years, and it had ceased to be merely fabric; it had become a second skin, a membrane of wool and thread that had absorbed the sweat, the cold, and the quiet desperation of the man who wore it. Elias Thorne did not remember when he had first put it on, only that it was there, heavy and damp against his shoulders, before he had...
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