The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-20 11:01:37 -

I woke with the sound of rain on the tin roof. It was a steady, hollow drumming. I lay still. The bed was cold. The air smelled of damp wool and old paper. I had been in this room for three weeks. I knew the cracks in the ceiling. I knew the stain on the wallpaper. It looked like a bird in flight. Or a tear. I could not tell anymore. My name is Arthur. I am a man of letters. Or I was. That is...

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