The Golden Circuit
The letter is dated the fourteenth of November, in the year of our Lord 1893, and it is written in a hand that trembles not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of a realization that has settled into your marrow like damp clay. You are sitting in the corner of the Pullman car, the one that smells of stale tobacco and the metallic tang of rusted wheels grinding against the iron tracks,...
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