The Golden Circuit
October 14th, 1893 The rain has not stopped for three days, turning the red clay of Oakhaven into a slurry that clings to the boots of every man who walks the streets. I am writing this by the light of a kerosene lamp that sputters and dies, forcing me to relight it with fingers that have gone numb from the cold seeping through the station walls. I am thirty-four years old, Julian, and I have...
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