The Faded Quadrant
The mud on the road to Harlan County had turned to a thick, sucking clay by the time you reached the foreman’s office, your boots heavy with the weight of the season’s damp. It was late November, 1924, and the air bit at your exposed neck, a cold that seemed to settle into the marrow of your bones, matching the chill of the notice you clutched in your hand. You were Elias Thorne, thirty-two...
0 Comments 0 Shares 20 Views 0 Reviews