The Wistful Dinner
The heavy silver tongs in your hand tremble, not from the heat of the roast beef but from the sudden, absolute drop in the room’s temperature, as Director Halloway stands at the head of the long oak table, his face a mask of bureaucratic calm that you have worn yourself for twenty years. The banquet is in full swing, the clatter of crystal against porcelain a sharp, rhythmic percussion that...
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