The Golden Visit
October 4th, 1912. The damp in the walls of the garrison at Middlesbrough has settled into the marrow of your bones, a cold that no blanket can dislodge, and you are leaving before the frost sets in because you know, with the certainty of a man who has watched his own pulse falter in the dark, that your heart will not survive another winter of this grey, industrial rot. You are forty years old,...
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