The Distant Summer
The letter from the Harrowgate Asylum was thin, the paper brittle as old lung tissue, and it smelled faintly of coal dust and damp wool, a scent that Elias Thorne recognized instantly as the smell of the Blackwood Mill’s lower floors. He held it in his left hand, the wax seal broken and discarded on the table, while his right hand hovered over the ledger that lay open before him. The entry was...
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