The Caged Heart
The fog rolled off the moors and into York on a November evening in 1888, thick as wool and just as suffocating. Thomas Webb pulled his threadbare coat tighter about him and quickened his pace along the cobbled lane that led from the mill to the row of terraced houses where he lived with his aunt. At nineteen, his hands were already roughened by the loom, his lungs stained with cotton dust, but...
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