The Distant Ghost
The kilns of the port city burned with a heat that did not season, a dry, abrasive heat that settled into the mortar of the walls and cracked the skin of the hands that laid them, while the bay outside churned with the grey, heaving backs of stranded whales that had died on the shallow shelf. In the quarter where the soot stained the white linen black, the air tasted of sulfur and salt, and the...
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