The Wistful Letter
The autumn of 1893 brought a dampness to the Yorkshire moors that seemed to seep into the marrow, a persistent chill that Arthur Vane, a master engraver of forty years, felt in his very bones as he drove the carriage away from his father’s dying estate. He carried with him a single, folded parchment wrapped in oilcloth, a document his father, in his final, rattling breaths, had identified as...
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