The Wistful Silence
The heavy glass vessel sat upon the mahogany desk, catching the grey light of the London afternoon and refracting it into dull, trembling shards across the parchment. You held it in your hands, the weight of it a familiar anchor against the rising tide of the city’s noise, that endless, industrial thrum of gears and gaslights that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards of your study. It...
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