The Manchester Forge
**[English Version]** The fog in Manchester did not roll in so much as it descended, a yellow-grey blanket smothering the streets from the cobbles up to the chimney tops. Arthur Blackwood breathed it in the way men breathe prayer—habitually, without thought, believing it was the air they were meant to have. He was twenty-two and had already learned the geometry of loss: the angle at which a...
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