The Same Light Through Different Windows on Cranbrook Road
1925 — Eleanor's Diary, April 3rd Arthur has given me this diary for my birthday. He wrapped it in brown paper from the shipping desk at Lloyd's and tied it with twine that still smells faintly of the tea chests in the basement. "For your thoughts," he said, and then blushed, because Arthur Whitfield has never said a romantic thing in his life without immediately regretting the exposure. I...
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