The Distant Affair
The train stopped. Silence fell. Miles stared at the window. Rain streaked the glass. He held the letter. It was crumpled. Soft. Damp. He had carried it for three years. In his coat. Inside the left pocket. Against his heart. The carriage smelled of wet wool. Old paper. Dust. He was an exile. A man without a land. The conductor passed. A tall man. Gray hair. Sharp eyes. He looked at Miles. He...
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