The Golden Scar
You had not been to Marlowe in nine years, and the city had grown thicker and darker in the meantime. The train came in under a roof of black iron and soot, and you sat a long while watching the other passengers hurry away, until a porter came and told you the platform was closed. You got down with your canvas bag and stood in the cold, and everywhere there were officials in gray coats, and the...
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