The Distant Garden
The train shuddered forward, a metallic beast exhaling steam into the grey, damp air of the platform, and Margaret Holloway stood with her back against the cold iron of the carriage wall, watching the city of London slide past the window in a blur of soot-stained brick and gaslight that flickered like the dying pulse of a heart. She was holding a coat, a heavy thing of deep burgundy wool, lined...
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