The Faded Frontier
The carriage wheels bit into the gravel of the King’s Road with a rhythmic, grinding complaint that seemed to vibrate up through the iron seat and into the marrow of my bones, a sensation that was less like motion and more like the slow, inevitable erosion of a stone by a river, a process that I had spent the better part of three decades trying to map, to name, and to ultimately deny. I was...
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