The Iron Lung of Blackmoor Colliery
The fog came down from the moors like a shroud, thick and black with coal dust. Thomas Blackwood pulled his coat tighter as he walked the narrow path from the miners' row to the schoolhouse. Each step was a negotiation with the mud, each breath a battle with the iron lung that had taken up residence in his chest. He had been coughing blood for three months. The doctor at the infirmary called...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 3 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση