The Distant Summer

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2026-08-19 09:58:21 -

The mill wheel had stopped turning before the water had even risen to the deck, a silent, heavy death that hung over the valley of Oakhaven like a shroud of grey mist. It was the third week of November, the kind of wet, biting cold that settled into the marrow and refused to leave, and the town held its breath. The great iron gears, which had groaned and clattered through a hundred summers, lay...

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