The Distant Summer
"Clara. Stop staring at the lintel." The voice of Mr. Halloway cut through the damp hum of the basement floor, sharp and bureaucratic, stripping away the last residue of the dream that had pulled her from the breakroom cot. She blinked, the steel beam above the inspection table catching the fluorescent light, and for a fraction of a second, the reflection of her own face in the polished metal...
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