Archives: Sunday, August 23, 2015

Heirloom

  I could tell from the look on his face that he couldn’t fix it. He held it between his blackened fingers, turning it this way and that. “This,” he said, “is junk. Not worth repairing.” I swallowed. “But my father gave this to me. He said it had been his father’s. It’s an heirloom.” “Nonsense,”

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