The Gentleman of the Woods
The mist clung to the Yorkshire moors like a shroud, and on this particular morning of 1887, it seemed to seep through the very walls of Hartley Manor. Inside, old Mr. Hartley paced the kitchen floor, his boots leaving muddy tracks on the already filthy boards. Three thousand acres of orchard stretching to the horizon, and he had done perhaps half an acre of weeding. His back ached with a...
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