The Wistful Skyline
The rain lashed against the single-pane window of my office, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that seemed to synchronize with the throbbing in my temples. I stared at the blueprint spread across the oak desk, the ink lines blurring as the condensation fogged the glass. It was a map of the new textile mill in Blackwood, a sprawling complex of brick and iron that would anchor the town’s future, or...
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