The Distant Whispers
The furnace in the basement of the Ashworth & Sons textile mill did not roar; it wheezed, a low, rhythmic groan that vibrated through the floorboards of the second-floor office where Elias Thorne sat, his hands resting on a ledger that had grown cold to the touch despite the coal fire’s aggressive warmth. The year was 1912, and the air in Harrowgate tasted of soot and wet wool, a pervasive,...
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