The Distant Threshold
The three days were measured in the burning of tallow, in the slow, agonizing drip of mercury into the glass, and in the weight of the debt that sat on Eleanor’s chest like a wet stone. She counted the hours since Master Aldous had slumped over his bench, his breath a final, rattling click in the back of his throat, and found that the silence in the cellar was louder than the storm hammering...
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