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Summary
He remembers this.
First class train carriage, on the trans-Canada route, the brass fittings and the casual luxury, the discreet, polite staff, Charles' red, pursed mouth as he surveys the wine list - his memory. There had only been disappointment waiting for them across the border, but the journey had been pleasant: Erik likes trains; loves the thrumming continuous sync of machine-work, the hydraulics, the metal on every side, under his palms, overhead, beneath his feet.
