The Keeper at the Threshold of Pressure
William Hartley stood at the base of Bell Rock Light on the twenty-third day of his fourteenth year, and the weight of the tower above him pressed down as if the stone itself had learned to grieve. The morning fog rolled in from the Atlantic in dense grey curtains, muffling the sound of waves against the granite foundations, and William felt the cold seep through his wool coat like a slow...
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