The Wistful Voyage
The train wheels clicked against the iron rails, a steady, mechanical pulse that matched the thumping in Arthur Vane’s temples. He sat in the corner of the second-class carriage, his knuckles white as he gripped the brass rail, staring at the blur of green fields passing by. His sister Elara was in the sanatorium in Harrow, the bills piling up on his desk like a wall of paper bricks. He needed...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare