Charles Tennyson Turner

It was a perfect night for a train. The occasional whistle told Louis of all the farewells he had ever known. ↗

— Charles Tennyson Turner

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#had #known #louis #night #occasional

Not until he stood at the altar did he achieve a sense of being hale and furnished. It was strange, he thought, that a man would find his surest current in the spot where he felt least worthy. ↗

— Charles Tennyson Turner

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#altar #being #current #did #felt

When the whistle blew and the call stretched thin across the night, one had to believe that any journey could be sweet to the soul. ↗

— Charles Tennyson Turner

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#any #believe #blew #call #could