The Distant Promise
The coal dust settles in your lungs before it settles on the floor, a fine, grey powder that tastes of iron and old time. You are in the cell, or what the warden calls a dormitory, a rectangular box of damp stone where the air hangs heavy with the smell of wet wool and unwashed bodies. It is 1893, and the world outside this windowless space is a machine of gears and smoke, but in here, time is...
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