The Distant Clue
Act I Sanjay Fernandes wiped the grease from his hands onto a rag that had long since lost its color, the friction of the cloth against his knuckles the only sound in the narrow workshop except for the rhythmic, heavy thud of the mill wheel turning the water into power. He was forty-two, and his back ached with a dull, persistent ache that spoke of years spent bending over gears and shafts, a...
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