The Wistful Dinner
The stone walls of the infirmary sweated with the dampness of the autumn night, a cold that seeped through the wool of Captain Elias Thorne’s tunic and settled into the joints of his forty-year-old hands, which now trembled with a rhythm that was no longer his own but the erratic, failing pulse of a heart that had beaten too long for a duty it could no longer sustain. He stood before the heavy...
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