The Golden Visit
The Abbot’s voice, low and dry as the scrubbed floorboards, cut through the steam of the kitchen. "Caldwell." It was a summons that carried the weight of three years’ silence, a name spoken not in greeting but in the manner of one calling a tool from the workbench. I did not turn immediately. My hands were buried in the fat of a mutton shoulder, the grease slick and warm against my palms, and...
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