The Pale Garden
Clara, stop it. Stop tapping that chisel against the granite like you’re trying to wake a dead man. I am not dead, I am simply tired, and the wall is not going to move just because you are shouting at it. I am Elias Thorne, fifty-two years old, and I have spent thirty years holding the line at the border, watching men and women try to cross into a life that wasn’t theirs, and now I am trying to...
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