The Wistful Incense
The doctor said it was the lungs, but the doctor was a man who measured the world in inches of mercury and degrees of fever, and he did not understand that the air in Millhaven had a texture, a gritty, metallic taste that settled in the throat and refused to leave. You felt it before you saw the smoke, a dryness that cracked the lips and made the eyes water, a constant, low-level scream that...
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