The Distant Machine
The valve on the central heating manifold groaned under Litsa Vassiliou’s wrench, a sound like a man clearing his throat before a lie, and she forced it counter-clockwise against the rust that had fused the metal into a single, stubborn lump. Her hands, slick with the oily residue of the pump’s coolant, slid on the surface, and she gritted her teeth, bracing her knee against the cold iron of...
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