The Faded Shield
The coat was heavy, a thing of charcoal wool that smelled perpetually of damp wool and old tobacco, a scent that had seeped into the fibers so deeply it had become part of the garment’s identity, a second skin that I wore not for warmth, but for the weight of its history. It was my father’s, a man who had left the rolling hills of the Yorkshire Dales with nothing but a suitcase and a...
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