The Distant Ghost
The waterworks district of Berlin hummed with the industrial thrum of pumps and the distant, rhythmic barking of a dog answering the harbor foghorn, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of the rented rooms above the workshop. In one of these cramped, damp spaces, where the wind tore at the shallow roofs and the cold seeped through the floorboards, Anneliese Hoffmann sat before a...
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