The Golden Oath
"Arthur Vane." The summons came from the office, a dry crackle of paper and a voice that held no warmth, only the weight of ledger books. It was November 1912, and the air in the textile mill hung thick with the smell of raw cotton dust and wet wool, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of Arthur’s throat. He stood by the carding machine, his hands raw and split, the skin peeling away in...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews