The Pale Banner
The fire started in the boiler room at three in the morning, a sudden, violent exhalation of orange light that swallowed the shadows of the textile mill in Northbridge. It was not a dramatic blaze, not in the way poets would later describe it, but a hungry, industrial consumption that turned the soot-blackened bricks into glowing embers and the air into a thick, suffocating syrup. Thomas...
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