The Wistful Witness
The train into the city was a steel beast, hissing and shuddering, carrying the smell of coal dust and wet wool in its belly. Margaret Holloway sat by the window, her fingers wrapped tightly around a small, leather-bound case, her knuckles white against the dark leather. Outside, the industrial sprawl of the textile district unspooled in a gray blur, smokestacks punching holes in the...
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