The Wistful Atlas
The atlas arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in brown paper and twine, the kind of wrapping that suggests someone had tried very carefully not to want it. Eleanor found it behind a stack of water-damaged ledgers in the back room of Harrow & Sons, a bookshop that had been slowly drowning in London fog since 1947.She was thirty-six years old, which meant she had spent almost exactly as long alone as...
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