The Wistful Silence
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell upon the town of Oakhaven with a persistent, rhythmic drumming that soaked into the cobblestones and seeped through the cracks in the old brick walls. Margaret stood at the window of the textile mill, watching the water run in thick, gray sheets down the glass. Inside, the air smelled of damp wool and industrial grease, a scent that had long...
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