The Golden Circuit
The letter arrived on a Tuesday. It was heavy. Thick paper. Cream colored. Miles opened it. His hands shook. He was a soldier. A good one. He had killed men in the dark. He had buried them in the mud. But this was different. This was inside his head. The handwriting was his own. Not similar. Identical. The same slant. The same pressure marks. He read the first line. *You are still trying to...
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