The Wistful Ashes
The train that carries you back to the estate is not a vehicle of transport but a vessel for the slow, deliberate disintegration of the self, a steel ribcage heaving against the grey, rain-lashed hills of a country that has forgotten the very definition of liberty, and as you sit in the compartment, watching the blurred streaks of elms and dead wheat smear across the windowpane, you feel the...
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