The Distant Metropolis
The dampness in the basement of the Manchester Municipal Botanical Conservatory did not merely settle into the walls; it inhabited them, a living, breathing presence that I had come to know as intimately as my own pulse. I was thirty-two years old, a clerk of the second class, and I spent my days in a state of perpetual, anxious devotion to the *Aconitum* seedlings, cataloging their growth with...
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