The Distant Clue
The fog rolls in from the harbor, thick as wool, swallowing the iron ribs of the pier before your boots have even stopped creaking. You are leaving, and you know it. The train whistle screams, a jagged tear in the grey silence, and the steam from the engine mixes with the salt air, creating a phantom world that is neither here nor there. This is the nature of the place, a damp, industrial...
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