The Pale Letter
The journey from the rural dampness of the northern counties to the suffocating, coal-choked grandeur of the capital was a physical ordeal that Margaret Holloway endured with a stoic, almost vegetative patience, her body shrinking within the confines of the velvet-lined carriage as the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone became the singular, deafening pulse of her existence. She had not...
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