The Wistful Incense
The train rattled across the iron bridges that spanned the chasms of the Yorkshire moors, a skeletal beast of steam and soot that dragged Edward Ashworth through a landscape stripped of all mercy, the wind howling through the gaps in the carriage windows with a voice that sounded suspiciously like his own name being called from a great distance, a warning that had been ignored for so long it...
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