The Wistful Throne
"Keep it dry," said the Sergeant. "The damp kills the bread faster than the rats." Thomas Ashworth took the loaf. It was hard as stone. Cold as the grave he had dug three winters past. He wrapped it in oilcloth. He hid it in the hollow of his chest, against his ribs. The cloth soaked with sweat. The bread stayed dry. This was the law of the garrison. Hunger was a ghost. It circled the men. It...
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