The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall. It hung. It coated the cobblestones of Whitmore Street in a slick, black varnish. The gas lamps sputtered, casting long, trembling shadows against the brick. Elias stood at the window. He did not blink. The city breathed. A low, industrial rumble. The heartbeat of the mill. The lungs of the district. Elias was an outsider. He had come from the north, from the frost-bitten...
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