The Faded Apartment
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Industrial Workers’ Hall in 1924 was a cavernous throat of brick and dust, where the air hung thick with the smell of stale beer, roasting pork, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear that permeates a room when a man has decided to kill himself. Margaret sat at the head of the long table, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her knuckles white as bone, watching...
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