The Distant Machine
The house smelled of roasted lamb and damp wool, a thick, cloying perfume that seemed to seep into the very pores of the walls of the old manor, settling there like a fine dust. It was the anniversary of the marriage, a milestone that in this town of Harrowgate was treated with the same solemn reverence as a religious holiday, a day when the air itself felt heavier, charged with the accumulated...
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