The Wistful Incense
The train from London to the industrial heart of the Midlands did not so much arrive as it exhaled, a long, rattling sigh of steam and coal dust that settled over the platform like a grey shroud. Elias Thorne stepped down from the carriage with the careful, deliberate gait of a man whose knees had begun to betray him long before his spirit had, carrying a leather trunk that smelled of cedar,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews