The Golden Visit
The coughing started again, a wet, rattling sound that cut through the thin silence of the kitchen. You looked up from the cold tea, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the gas lamp that flickered against the soot-stained walls. Mara sat by the stove, her face pale, a handkerchief clamped over her mouth. When she lowered it, the cloth was dark. You wanted to speak, to tell her that the...
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