The Distant Whispers
The oak tree stood in the center of the yard, a dark pillar against the pale, smog-choked sky of 1904. It was an old thing, its bark rough as cast iron, its roots gripping the earth with a stubbornness that defied the encroaching mud and the soot from the nearby textile mills. Elias Thorne walked around it every morning. He counted the rings in his head, though he could not see them. He knew...
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