The Hog and the Squeeze
The fog came down off the moors like a guilty thing, creeping through the lanes and swallowing the hedgerows until Blackwood Estate existed in nothing but a small sphere of gaslight around the farmhouse windows. Tommy Hewitt stood in the yard with his satchel and his contract and watched it come. He was nineteen, lean from years of working without eating enough, and he had learned to read...
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