The Arsenal at Manchester
The smoke from the factories had turned the Manchester sky the color of a bruise. It hung over the city like a lid, trapping the heat and the noise and the endless clatter of looms. Arthur Linch walked through the streets every morning on his way to the Arsenal, and every morning he breathed in that smoke and told himself it was the price of progress. He was thirty-four, an instructor of...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 33 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen