The Wistful Skyline
The clock in the town hall square did not tick; it throbbed, a slow, arterial pulse that vibrated through the cobblestones and up into the soles of your shoes, a sensation so profound and inescapable that it felt less like a measurement of time and more like a physical weight pressing down upon the collective consciousness of the gathered crowd, which was a sea of grey wool and anxious faces,...
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