The Pale Altar
The air in the basement of the Ashworth textile mill was thick, not with dust, as one might expect from a place so deep beneath the cobblestones of Manchester, but with a heavy, humid warmth that clung to the skin like a second, damp layer of wool. It was 1893, a year when the city seemed to breathe in soot and exhalation of steam, and the mill stood as a monolith of brick and iron, its windows...
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