The Faded Alibi
Elias set the plate down on the oilcloth, the ceramic clattering against the wood with a sound too loud for the quiet room. The roast beef was cold, the fat congealed into a white, waxy ring around the meat. He watched Clara pick at the edge of the fork, her fingers thin as driftwood, the skin of her knuckles translucent under the dim light. The floorboards beneath his feet gave a low, rhythmic...
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