The Distant Wound
The fog in Halloway Mill did not merely obscure the world; it absorbed it, a thick, grey wool that strangled the sharp edges of the Victorian architecture and softened the distant clang of the ironworks into a dull, rhythmic heartbeat. I sat in the study, surrounded by the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of light that pierced the heavy velvet drapes, holding the ledger of the town’s...
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