The Wistful Grid
October 14, 1912 The rain has turned the cobblestones of Meridian Street into a slick, black mirror, reflecting the gaslights in long, trembling streaks that seem to vibrate against the wet pavement. I am writing this by the light of a single tallow candle in my study, my hands shaking not from the cold, but from the sheer, suffocating weight of the ink-stained parchment before me, the final...
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