The Distant Whispers
The fog that clung to the cliffs of Dorset did not behave like ordinary weather. It moved with intention, seeping through cracked windowpanes and settling into the wool of woolens hung to dry on line. Thomas Blackwood had lived on this headland for forty-seven years, ever since his father — a man of few words and many regrets — had purchased the derelict lighthouse keeper's cottage at auction....
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