The Golden Mirror
The train from Vienna to Budapest did not so much arrive as it dissolved into the twilight, a long, rattling spine of iron and wood that seemed to breathe with the exhaustion of its passengers. Elias Vane sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the snow-streaked hills slide past the frosted glass. He was a man who had spent forty years running,...
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