The Wyrm's Covenant
My father prayed at the cellar door every night. I told myself it was the war. I told myself that four years in the trenches, three years in the hospitals, and a thousand miles from the Irish county where I was born had done what the peace could not undo. Old Seamus O'Brien, who had spent his life wrestling his Minnesota wheat farm into submission, who had lost his left arm in a threshing...
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