The Golden Harbor
The fog in the town of Oakhaven did not merely settle; it breathed. It curled around the iron spires of the old textile mills and pressed its cold, damp lips against the glass of every window, as if the town itself were a lung slowly filling with grey air. Arthur Penhaligon walked through it with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man carrying a burden he could not name. He was a lecturer in...
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