The Wistful Show
The rain had been falling for three days, turning the cobblestones of the low, mist-choked town of Harrowgate into a slick, black mirror that reflected only the grey sky and the weary faces of those who walked upon it. It was a place where the soot from the textile mills clung to the eaves and the breath of the people, a thick, industrial fog that seemed to settle in the lungs as much as in the...
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