The Glass Cathedral
The heat in Yorkshire was not like the heat of other seasons. It was a slow intruder, patient and inevitable, moving through the stone corridors of High Crags like a visitor who had forgotten how to leave. Henrietta Ashworth felt it most acutely in the greenhouse—a glass and iron structure at the far end of the overgrown garden, where the air hung thick with the scent of damp earth and the slow decay of leaves that had fallen the previous autumn and never been swept away.
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