The Distant Affair
The carriage wheels groaned against the cobblestones, a sound like the cracking of old bones, as Eleanor Ashworth bid farewell to the only world she had ever known. The rain in London was a cold, persistent thing, washing the grime from the streets but leaving a sheen of misery on the cobblestones. She sat in the back, her hands folded tightly in her lap, watching her husband, Edward, walk...
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