The Golden Quest
I found the letter in the margin of a book I no longer remembered buying. The envelope was heavy cream, the kind that used to cost four shillings a pack in Harrods before the war made paper a memory. My name was written on the front in a hand I almost recognised--almost, like a word on the tip of your tongue that refuses to land. The ink had bled slightly along the downstroke of the capital G,...
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