eading, Denbridge was

ere still flickering as Miriam walked home alone, the hem of her coat grazing wet stone. The air

er hadn'

he wax seal unbroken. She could feel its outline

passed the tailor's abandoned shop, where

r street corner, she tur

oke to damp leaves. Inside, it was warm and plain shelves full of tea tins, windows painted

her shoes, and laid the lett

ng. Even the cat next do

as q

e didn't recognize the script. Not quite feminine, not

eluctant breath

t rose from the paper lavender

it slowly. Th

Fair

hings I sho

know

honest. I know you walk the long way home, even when it rains. I know you

ing you found on the chapel ste

braver than you l

ou, I understand. I

wall of the ruins tomorrow

y t

y y

it twice.

Her hands remained still, resting on the edges of the parchme

o open. He was a man who carried secrets like spare chang

e kept them not out of nostalgia, but for comparison. Grocery lists, old fair invi

avy. Expensive. Someone who didn't write of

nature again. That

ru

row n

ena tossed i

ing in rows like an audience. When she awoke, she couldn't rem

e, too. But he

ved in soft leather. He watched the square like a clock, and though no

, he drew a str

itten

stit

cream cloth. A

letter. Begin

. But behind the uppermost window, a single lamp burned for jus

. One tall,

ated,

dar

Miriam sat with the l

felt was weightless. Like being chosen

ed, teased, pursued in that half hearted way small towns

t a man's

somethi

lt like it had alr