The Distant Machine
"Do you hear it?" I asked, my voice trembling against the roar of the machinery. Clara looked up from the ledger she was balancing on her knee. She did not look at me. She looked at the loom, that great iron beast of the mill, and her face went pale, the color draining out of it like water from a cracked basin. "I hear the gears, Elias," she said, her voice thin and sharp. "I hear the steam. I...
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