The Wistful Voyage
The frost had settled on the windowpane of the administrative office, a delicate lattice of ice that distorted the view of the grey yard beyond. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of coal dust and old paper. Elias Thorne stood by the filing cabinet, his hands resting on the cold metal. He wore a coat of heavy wool, dark and worn at the elbows. The buttons were brass. They had been his...
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