The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-17 12:07:11 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, grey mist that clung to the wool of my greatcoat and seeped into the bone, a persistent, cold whisper that had accompanied me since the trenches of Flanders and now, in the industrial sprawl of this northern English city, seemed to be the only truth left to me. I stood before the heavy oak door of the magistrate’s office, the brass...

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