The Distant Threshold
Alistair Finch had spent thirty-seven years as a clockmaker in a narrow Mayfair workshop that smelled of brass polish and time itself. His hands, mapped with the fine white scars of slipped gravers and broken springs, could restore a 17th-century marine chronometer to perfect ticking or coax a stubborn 19th-century carriage clock back into obedient rhythm. But it was the small leather-bound...
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