The Faded Attic
The gavel falls with a crack that splits the air in the high-ceilinged auction hall, and you feel the floorboards shudder under your shoes. The room is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and stale cigar smoke, a suffocating mix that clings to the velvet drapes and the polished mahogany tables. You are forty-two, a man who has built a reputation on the quiet precision of your eye, yet...
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