The Faded Portrait
The invoice from the King’s Treasury lay on the oak table, its paper brittle and stained with the damp that seeped through the palace walls in autumn. It listed the cost of the solvents I had purchased that week: three flasks of turpentine, two jars of linseed oil, and a specialized varnish meant to arrest the decay of pigments, totaling forty guineas, a sum that would have bought a man a...
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