The Wistful Letter
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in the kind of parchment that belonged to another century. It was addressed to one Clara Whitcombe—her name, yet not hers, written in a hand that might have been her own if she had ever learned to write with any elegance at all. Clara worked in the archives of the British Museum, buried in the subterranean rooms where the light never reached and the...
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