The Distant Clue
The banquet hall smelled of roasted goose and damp wool, a thick, cloying odor that clung to the back of the throat and refused to leave. It was a celebration for the closure of the Millhaven Textile Mill, a factory that had employed half the town for three generations, and the air was thick with the kind of forced gaiety that precedes a collapse. Margaret Holloway sat at the head of the table,...
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