The Wistful Mirror
The train hissed into the station of Aylesbury, a long, shuddering exhalation that seemed to drain the very breath from the November air. I stepped onto the platform with the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots that I had not heard in six months, a sound that belonged to a life I had left behind in the trenches of the Somme but which now echoed in the hollows of my ribs. The stationmaster, a man...
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