The Iron Cage of Deepwell
The fog over the Yorkshire moors was the colour of old bones, thick and suffocating, the sort of fog that got inside your lungs and stayed there. Thomas Harlow stood at the mouth of Blackwood Colliery Number Seven, his hands trembling, his skin the colour of dark earth, his eyes black as the seam he had just emerged from after seven days and six nights in the dark. He was the only one who came...
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