The Faded Frontier
The iron gate of the Ashwood Estate did not yield to Thomas Bradshaw’s push, nor did it shudder under the weight of his desperate, bleeding hands. He stood in the mud of the moor, the rain a cold, silent curtain that blurred the world into a grey smear, while inside the heavy oak doors, the laughter of the gentry rang out like the clinking of silver spoons against fine china. Thomas was not a...
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