The Wistful Saga
The wool in the cellar weighed exactly four hundred and twelve pounds, a figure Thomas Bradshaw had counted three times to be sure, the wool damp and heavy with the November rain that had not yet stopped falling. He was twelve years old, thin as a reed, and his fingers were numb from the cold that seeped up through the stone floor, a chill that had no business being so deep in a cellar where...
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