The Distant Garden
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Orphanage, a cavernous rotunda of peeling yellow paint and cracked marble columns that smelled perpetually of boiled cabbage and damp wool, was aglow with a frantic, electric energy that seemed to vibrate through the soles of your shoes as you stood in the corner, clutching a plate of cold, congealed jellied eels with a grip so tight your knuckles turned the...
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