The Wistful Show
The rain in the valley of the Ouse was not merely wet; it was a physical weight, a grey curtain that pressed against the glass of the carriage window, blurring the world into a smear of mud and heather. Elias Vane sat in the corner, his knees drawn up, his hands wrapped tightly around the brass astrolabe. The instrument was warm, a feverish heat that seeped through his wool gloves, humming with...
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