The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-17 18:28:37 -

The iron gate of the Blackwood Mill yawned open like the mouth of a leviathan, exhaling a breath of soot and damp wool that hung in the air, thick and tasteless, a fog that settled into the pores of the skin and the fibers of the clothing with the tenacity of a debt that could never be fully repaid, as Arthur Penhaligon, the master clockmaker, stepped off the train at the terminus of the...

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