The Faded Frequency
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Hotel smelled of roasted duck, spilled wine, and the metallic tang of the new electric lights that hummed above the chandelers. It was a night of excess, the kind that the city of Blackwood favored in the late autumn of 1912, when the fog rolled off the river and the factories ground through the night, turning raw ore into the gears of progress. At the center...
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