The Distant Promise
The iron gate did not creak; it groaned, a low, tectonic moan that seemed to rise from the very bedrock of the Yorkshire moor, vibrating up through the soles of my boots and into the marrow of my shins, a sound that was less mechanical than biological, as if the estate itself were a wounded animal waking from a long, fevered sleep. I stood there, my hand still resting on the cold, rusted...
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