The Distant Whispers
The iron wheels screamed against the rails, a sound like tearing metal that vibrated through the soles of your boots and up into the marrow of your shins. You sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, clutching a leather satchel that contained nothing but your identity papers, a letter of recommendation, and the desperate, coiled hope of a man who had nothing left to lose. Outside, the...
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