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Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

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its rim darkened by decades of damp peat, river sand, and the natural oils of a hundred different hands.

Donald set it between us on the wooden bench, his wool tie tucked neatly into his shirt to keep the tip from dragging in the dirt. He was not wearing his spectacles, but his hands were steady as he scooped a handful of the dark, rich mix from the continue reading …

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