The Distant Ghost
The flood came without warning. It did not roar. It simply arrived, a brown wall of sludge and debris that swallowed the lower streets of Ashford in seconds. Water poured into the basement of the old library, carrying with it the smell of wet rot and old paper. The town was a place of rigid structures, of brick facades and painted trim, where history was a fixed thing, a ledger to be balanced....
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