The Distant Machine
14th of October, 1912 Father, The air in the mill is thick with the smell of hot oil and wet wool, a scent that has begun to settle into the pores of my skin as if it were my own. I am writing to tell you that I have secured my place on the night shift, though the cost is a tremor in my hands that I cannot seem to control when I reach for the tension levers. The new loom, the Hargreaves model,...
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