The Pale Shadows
The mercury is in my blood, and it is in the air, and it is in the silence of the Blackwood Textile Mill, a thick, white suspension that coats the lungs like a second skin. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, and I have been the night watchman here for six years, a tenure that should have secured me a pension, but the tremors in my hands have made my pen shake so violently that I can...
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