The Distant Affair
The shawl lay in Elias’s hands, its wool matted with the dust of three years in a bottom drawer. He held it up to the grey light of the harbor, watching the fibers catch the weak sun, a small, dry thing that smelled of lavender and rot. Outside, the fog rolled in from the sea, thick as milk, erasing the masts of the ships and the faces of the men hauling crates. Elias was forty years old, his...
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