The Distant Affair
The rain falls on the glass. It slides down. Slow. Thick. You watch it. You are on the train. It moves north. Into the dark. The night is heavy. The air smells of iron. And coal. And wet wool. You hold the case. It is small. Wood. Warm. It holds a mirror. Old. Cracked. Your hand aches. You have been holding it for three days. Since the fight. Since the blood. Since the silence. The man across...
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