The Black Grain of Blackwood Mill
The fog came down from the moors like a shroud, and with it came the grain. Edward Ashworth had not noticed the fog at first. He was too busy with the mill, the great stone wheels groaning under the weight of Yorkshire rain. The Ashworth mill had stood for three centuries, grinding wheat and barley for the villages of the dales. Now it ground only enough to keep the wolves from the door. Edward...
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