The Vial Remembers
I was blown in a glassworks in Bristol in the year 1878. The glassblower was a man named Thomas Hayward, who had learned the trade from his father and who had been drinking since noon. His hands were unsteady, and my walls were thinner on one side than the other, and the foreman had intended to reject me. But the woman who had commissioned the work did not care about symmetry. She was a small,...
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