The Golden Farce
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the heather into a bruised and shivering thing, and it was in this damp, suffocating silence that Thomas Ashworth felt the first true crack in the foundation of his soul, a hairline fracture that ran deep into the marrow of his bones and whispered that he was no longer the man who had walked away from the farm, no...
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