The Distant Machine
14th October, 1923. The air in the workshop has a texture today, a granular grit that settles on the skin like ash, though the coal furnace is cold. It is the Distant Machine, humming its low, sub-audible drone from the center of the room, vibrating the very mortar in the brickwork. I have been working on the escapement for three days without sleep, my fingers stained with grease and the faint,...
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