The Golden Circuit
The train hissed into the station at dusk, a long exhalation of steam that smelled of coal dust and wet iron, carrying with it a silence so profound it seemed to press against the eardrums like deep water. Arthur Pendelton, a man whose life had been measured in the precise, unyielding ticks of the railway clock and the heavy, rhythmic thud of the ledger he kept in his breast pocket, stepped...
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