The Golden Circuit
Blackwood, 14 October 1912 My hands are black to the wrist, the grease so deep it has settled into the whorls of my palms and will not wash out with lye or scrubbing. I have been under the main boiler for three hours, wrestling with the pressure valve that has begun to weep steam, a thin, scalding hiss that sounds like a dying animal in the dark. The station is cold, a damp chill that seeps...
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