The Iron Smoke
Manchester, 1847. The sky hung over the city like a lid of wet coal-dust, and the rain that fell was not water but ash. Thomas Brennan stood in the corner of the mill, his right leg twisted inward like a branch that had grown wrong. At sixteen, he was the smallest of the scavengers—the boys who crawled beneath the looms to collect the cotton waste. The other boys called him Cripple-Tom. The...
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