The Distant Nightmare
The carriage wheels bit into the gravel of the drive with a rhythmic, grinding crunch that seemed to echo inside the hollows of Arthur Pemberton’s skull, a mechanical heartbeat that mirrored the frantic, arrhythmic pulse of his own chest as he leaned forward, his knuckles white against the leather seat. Outside the stained glass windows, the fog of the industrial valley rolled up against the...
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