The Wistful Incense
The carriage wheels ground against the wet cobblestones of London, a rhythmic, grinding friction that echoed in Edmund’s skull like the ticking of a broken clock, a mechanical heartbeat that marked the precise, irrevocable distance between his current location and the vast, indifferent expanse of the city ahead, where the air smelled of coal smoke and the stale, metallic tang of impending rain....
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