The Distant Blade
The soot did not merely settle in the lungs of the workers at the Ashworth Textile Mill; it settled in the soul, a fine, gray silt that choked the very air of the city in the winter of 1912. Arthur Vane, a clerk of thirty years whose hands were perpetually stained with ink and anxiety, watched his sister Elara collapse on the factory floor, her body convulsing as if struck by an invisible hand,...
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