The slate quarry took everything eventually. First the men, then the boys, then the health of whoever stayed behind. By the time Evan Hughes was dying, Penrhyn District had become a place where the mountains were bleeding grey and the rain never stopped.
He knew the fever in his chest was consumption. The doctor from Bangor had said it softly, after listening to Evan's back with that brass instrument, after feeling his wrist for a count the doctor said was "unsettling." The doctor did not use the word death. But he looked at the thin man in the thin coat, at the schoolhouse clinging to the hillside like a lichen, and he said: "You should rest,...
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