The Distant Clue
The mill stood at the edge of the town like a grey beast that had not finished eating. Smoke curled from its stacks, thick and persistent, turning the air a bruised purple by night. Inside, the looms clicked and clattered in a rhythm that matched the heartbeat of every man who worked there. Thomas Ashworth was one of them. He was not a man of many words, nor of many smiles. He was a figure...
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