The Pale Tale
"Drink, Arthur. Drink, for God's sake, before the champagne goes flat." Dr. Halloway’s voice was a dry rasp, cutting through the low hum of the Winter Gala at the university. The room smelled of stale rosewater and the metallic tang of anxiety. I looked up from my glass, the crystal heavy in my sweating hand. My father’s translation, the one that had made him famous and then disgraced him, was...
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