The Wistful Skyline
You had been riding since the first smudged grey of morning, through the coal towns where the children came to the fences with faces like crumpled letters, through the fields of bitter ragweed that grew in the shadow of the Number Four mill, and up onto the high moors where the wind carried the taste of iron even out of sight of the city, and by the time the sun rode small and white above the...
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