The Faded Frequency
Chapter One The wet snow had packed the drifts along the canal bank until the mud was a black, sucking thing that held the boots of the millwright who traveled, and Nienke van Leeuwen sat in the kitchen with the door shut tight against the damp, listening to the low hum that came from the walls, a sound like a pipe struck and left to vibrate in the dark. She needed the pension, the paper that...
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