The Wistful Incense
The train did not stop because it was scheduled to, but because the air itself had grown too thick to part. It shuddered to a halt in a landscape that defied the geography of the British countryside, a place where the fog was not a weather phenomenon but a physical substance, grey and heavy as wet wool, clinging to the carriages of the locomotive. Elias Thorne pressed his forehead against the...
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