The Pale Bonsai
The pot is heavy, heavier than it should be, and the soil smells of wet iron and old lavender, a scent that clings to the back of the throat like a bad tooth. I am Elias Thorne, groundskeeper at Blackwood Manor, and I have been told by Mr. Vane, the new owner, that the pale bonsai in the sunroom is a liability, a drafty hole in the wall that needs to be plugged with a brick of logic. He speaks...
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