The Wistful Letter
The ink was still wet on the final line when Arthur Vane realized his hand was trembling, not from the cold that seeped through the walls of his cramped office, but from the sheer, vibrating weight of the words he had committed to paper. It was November, 1893, and the air in the city tasted of coal smoke and impending snow, a gritty particulate that coated the tongue and settled in the lungs...
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