The Wistful Letter
The train that took Arthur Penhaligon away from his mother’s bedside did not merely depart; it severed a limb, leaving a phantom ache that would throb in the marrow of his days for the next forty years. He stood on the platform of the station in Greylock, a city of soot and iron, watching the taillights of the express fade into the fog like dying embers, his coat buttoned tight against the damp...
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