The Wistful Incense
The iron weight, sewn into the inner cuff of Brother Thomas’s sleeve, hung heavy and cold against his wrist, a secret ballast that allowed his left hand to hold the psalter steady while his right fumbled with the bone folder. The tremor had started three months prior, a subtle, rhythmic shaking that began in the tips of his fingers and traveled up the forearm, stealing the precision that had...
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