The Distant Machine
"Is it the escapement or the mainspring?" I heard you ask that before I even turned from the window, and the sound of your voice, flat and clipped, stopped the ticking of the workshop clock. You stood in the doorway, your coat still damp from the rain, holding a letter that looked as though it had been opened and closed several times. I did not turn around. I was looking at the brass gears of...
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