The Golden Farce
The train groaned against the iron tracks, a metallic shriek that seemed to tear the very fabric of the twilight air, and you sat in the upper berth of the second-class carriage, your fingers tracing the cold, condensation-slicked windowpane where the world outside was dissolving into a smear of grey and black, your heart beating with a rhythm that felt less like life and more like a slow,...
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