The Distant Machine
The loom in the east wing has been broken since Tuesday, and the silence it leaves behind is louder than any clatter I have ever known. I am Arthur Penhaligon, clerk in the accounts department of the Halloway Textile Works, and I am writing this down because the sound in my bones is becoming difficult to ignore. It is a low, rhythmic thrumming, a vibration that rises through the floorboards and...
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