The Distant Legend
October 14, 1924. I have counted the shillings in my purse three times, and they still amount to forty-two pence, a sum that feels insufficient against the weight of the coal bill due by week’s end. The house smells of damp plaster and the medicinal vinegar I use to sponge my mother’s forehead, a scent that has seeped into the very fibers of her nightgown and the curtains of her room. She lies...
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