The Frequency of a Single Moment
1925 — Eleanor The locket was small enough to fit in the hollow of her palm, a circle of tarnished silver no wider than a shilling, and when Eleanor Marsh pressed the catch with her thumb — there, just beside the hinge — it opened with a sound like a watch being wound. Inside was not a photograph. Eleanor's grandfather, who had been a clockmaker on Whitechapel Road for forty-seven years before...
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