The Faded Bouquet
The train was not merely a vehicle of transit but a long, breathing creature of iron and steam that clawed its way through the Yorkshire moors, dragging us into the twilight with a rhythmic, grinding inevitability that felt less like motion and more like a slow, suffocating descent into the earth itself, the windows vibrating with a low, mournful thrum that seemed to resonate in the marrow of...
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