Fantasy | December 2005 | Archives
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Elizabeth H. Hopkinson |
On Tuesday mornings, Mr Spink rearranged the books and dusted the antique sculptures in the window. He liked to call them the antique sculptures even though he was not entirely sure they were genuine antiques or what they were supposed to be sculptures of. Mr Porteous who came in every other Wednesday on the off chance had offered to have them valued but Mr Spink said he'd rather not. They were just part of the atmosphere.
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