The Wistful Letter
The ink was still wet on the envelope when the knock came, a sharp, percussive rap against the oak door that seemed to vibrate in the hollow of your chest. You did not move from the desk, your hand resting on the heavy brass paperweight, watching the dust motes swirl in the single shaft of light that cut through the gloom of the study. The knocking came again, more insistent this time, and you...
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