The Golden Circuit
The first thing I did was count the stitches in the hem of the wedding dress. One, two, three. My hands were shaking so badly I had to stop and count the ceiling tiles instead. Fourteen. I was forty-two years old, a textile chemist with a reputation for precision, and I was standing in my sister’s bedroom, holding a scalpel to the silk. The air in the house was thick, damp with the smell of old...
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