The Pale Letter
The train that carried me north through the rain-swept valleys of the Pennines was a beast of iron and steam, groaning under the weight of its own momentum as it clawed its way up the inclines, and I sat in the corner of the third-class carriage with my coat buttoned to the chin, watching the grey blur of the landscape rush past the glass like a memory trying to escape. I was carrying a box, a...
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