The Distant Threshold
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended curtain of grey water that blurred the boundary between the cobblestone street and the looming facade of the Ashworth estate, a place where the soot of the nearby textile mills seemed to have calcified into the very bricks, giving the house the appearance of a bruised, breathing lung. Inside, in the drawing room that smelled of damp wool and...
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