The Faded Frontier
The bell in the tower of the Blackwater Textile Mill did not ring so much as it groaned, a low, resonant moan that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of the bones of every soul within the four stone walls, a sound that was less a signal for the shift to end and more a physical blow to the chest, a dull, persistent throb that marked the passing of another hour in the long, gray procession of the...
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