The Distant Whispers

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 11:19:44 -

The train smelled of wet wool and rust. I sat in the corner. My hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. My father’s coat was on my lap. It was heavy. Brown wool. Threadbare at the elbows. It smelled of pipe tobacco and old sweat. He had worn it for forty years. I had tried it on once, as a boy. It swallowed me. Now it fit. I was going to London. To the Hall. To see the Chancellor. They called me...

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