The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:34:54 -

The ironworks had been the only mouth open in the valley for forty years, a black gullet that swallowed the timber, the limestone, and the men themselves, spitting out nothing but a grey, acrid mist that settled into the pores of our skin and the very stones of our cottages like a second, permanent layer of flesh. I was the foreman of the night shift, a man who spoke little because the air was...

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