The Golden Farce

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2026-08-22 13:17:55 -

The Golden Farce

The mud on the road to Ypres had a texture like wet clay, sucking at our boots with a persistent, sucking hunger that seemed to know exactly how much strength we had left to give. I was thirty-two, a captain in the Royal Dragoon Guards, and I marched with my head high, driven by the singular, burning need to prove that the Ashworth name had not been diluted by the softness of the last decade....

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