The Witness of Things
The rain had not ceased for seventeen days. I felt it falling upon the moors like a judgment, beating against my roof, running down my stone walls, seeping into the floorboards beneath my rooms. I was Blackwood Manor, and I had stood on this moorland for two hundred years, and I had absorbed so much sorrow that my atmosphere had grown heavy with it. He arrived in a carriage, though I would have...
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