The Golden Circuit
The first letter was found in the lining of my coat, a scrap of yellowed paper smelling of dust and old lavender. It was dated October 14, 1893. I read it now, by the window of the attic, while the rain beats against the glass like a frantic hand. My dearest Thomas, The chrysanthemums are dying in the pot on the sill. I have watered them until the soil turned to sludge. They do not know they...
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