The Manor by the Fens
I was fourteen when I first walked across the moor to the Ashworth estate. The Yorkshire wind was already sharp that October, carrying the scent of wet peat and decaying bracken. My job was to cut the overgrown grass along the eastern approach—what remained of a lawn that hadn't seen a proper lawnmower in thirty years, since Mr. Ashworth left and the world turned its back on this piece of the...
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