The Pale Circus
Act I The mills of Yorkshire churned the raw wool into grey sludge, the air heavy with the stink of lanolin and coal smoke that settled in the lungs of every worker from the mill hand to the clerk. In the shadow of the great brick chimneys, the village of Skipton huddled, its streets slick with the runoff of industry, while the moors beyond stretched out like a bruised, wind-combed plateau....
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