The Faded Attic
The letter lay in my hands, the paper thin and yellowed by the damp, the ink smudged where the waxy seal had been broken. It was from Thomas, my brother, written from the cold cell of Newgate Prison, and it asked for nothing but a visit before the noose tightened. I sat in my study, the air thick with the scent of stale tobacco and the damp wool of my coat, watching the candle flicker against...
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