The Wistful Saga
Chapter One Marlene Zimmermann hauled the iron latch up, her knuckles white against the rust, the metal screaming in the midsummer rain that fell cold as March. The gate of the state sanatorium groaned, a sound like a dying ox, and she stepped over the threshold, mud sucking at her boots. Inside, the air was heavy with boiled turnips and iodine, and the offloading of the season’s coal rumbled...
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