The Wistful Witness
The train to London was a metal beast, shuddering through the grey dawn of November 1912, and Elias Thorne sat with his back pressed against the cold window, his hands trembling so violently he could not hold his tea cup steady. He was thirty years old, though the dust of the coal mines had settled into his lungs and his bones, making him feel like a man of sixty who had been forced to wear the...
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