The Faded Root
The woolen coat was not merely a garment; it was the architecture of Edward Ashworth’s survival. It had been passed down from his father, who had passed it to his mother, who had pressed it into Edward’s hands on the day he left for the capital, a heavy, dark thing smelling of mothballs and old tobacco. It was a coat of deep, undyed brown, thick as a brick, with a collar that could be turned up...
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