The Distant Metropolis
The mortar cracked first, a thin white vein splitting the dark stone of the hearth, and then the bread began to scream. It was not a sound of anger, or of pain in the way that men understand pain, but a high, thin whine, like a rat caught in the floorboards of a house that is slowly sinking into the mud, a sound that vibrated in the teeth and settled in the hollows of the chest where the fear...
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