The Distant Machine
The ironworks at the edge of the village did not hum, it screamed, a low, constant thrum that settled in the marrow of the bones and rattled the teeth in their sockets, a sound that was less heard than felt, a physical weight pressing against the sternum until the heart beat in time with the pistons, and in that rhythmic violence, in that unceasing mechanical churning of heat and iron and...
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