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The Garden Pool

by J. Daniel Sawyer

The silence of the evening, broken only by the thundering gasworks two miles distant, settled on the hedge like mist on a grave. Last season's dried holly twigs crunched beneath the hand-cobbled leather shoes—the thin coating of snow did nothing to muffle it. A pair of wintering jays squealed and scattered up into the greying gloom, the late fall storm clouds glowing pale from the endless gaslight.

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