The Wistful Skyline
The wind did not howl so much as it wheezed, a dry, rattling sound that seemed to come from the bones of the train itself, a metallic groan that matched the hollow ache settling deep in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s left knee, that old, stubborn companion which had walked with him for fifty years and now refused to let him walk at all, forcing him to sit hunched in the corner of the second-class...
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