The Iron Mask of Blackwood
ACT I The fog rolled down from the Pennine hills like a living thing, thick and yellow with coal dust. Edward Ashworth stood at the window of Blackwood Manor and watched it consume the valley below. He had been back three days and already the house felt like a tomb wearing his grandfather's skin. The will had been read two days ago. Robert Ashworth, who had built an empire from Yorkshire coal,...
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