The Wistful Voyage
The candle guttered, casting long, trembling shadows against the plaster walls of the chamber where Dr. Elias Thorne sat beside the bed of his wife, Agnes. Her skin was the color of old parchment, cool and dry to the touch, and her breathing had ceased an hour ago, yet Elias kept his hand wrapped around hers, refusing to acknowledge the finality of the silence. He was fifty-two years old, a man...
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