The Wistful Asylum
The letter lay on the oak desk, its edges soft from the damp air of the Cambridge office. Dr. Elias Thorne picked it up, the paper feeling slick and weak in his fingers. It was a standard form, printed in the dry, bureaucratic typeface of the Ministry of War, but the single line in the center made the room tilt. *Reported killed in action. Somme, 1916.* Elias set the paper down. He did not cry....
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