The Distant Crown
The rain that morning did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, grey veil that turned the soot-stained brickwork of the Ashworth & Sons Ironworks into a monolith of damp, breathing stone. Thomas Ashworth stood at the head of the long, scarred table in the directors’ office, a room that smelled of stale tobacco and the metallic tang of fear, while the three men who had once called him...
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