I was expecting it this time, but I still caught my breath, suppressing the gasp that drove up from my gut and fighting, too, to control the instinctive jump as fingers stroked roughly up my thigh in the darkness. Three times, three tunnels, and each time we emerged back into the daylight, the tableau was the same; two strangers seated at opposite ends of the compartment, heads still bent towards the books they’d brought to while away the journey. But when the lights went out, that was a different story.
I knew this route well and I swear, it has to be one of the most breathtakingly curious railroads imaginable. Picture seventy miles and two hours that wind through some of the loveliest mountain scenery in America, and then black half of it out with so many tunnels that it could almost pass for a subway system. Particularly on those occasions, like today, when nobody has bothered to replace the blown lightbulbs that would normally bring at least a modicum of lighting to the interior of the carriage.
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