The Wistful Voyage
The fog that rolls in from the harbor does not merely obscure the view of the distant ships, but it enters the house itself, a damp, grey breath that settles into the joints of the floorboards and the weave of the heavy wool curtains, so that by the time the sun has burned itself out behind the industrial smog of the city, you are no longer sure if you are breathing air or the memory of the...
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