The Distant Metropolis
The smell of boiled turnips and damp wool hung thick in the air of the moving carriage, a scent that clung to Sergeant Elias Thorne’s skin like a second, heavier layer of uniform. He sat with his back against the rattling window, his eyes fixed on the passing gray fields of the English countryside, watching the skeletal remains of the harvest season stretch out toward a horizon that seemed to...
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