The Wistful Mountain
The left hand of Sergeant Elias Thorne shook like a leaf caught in a gale, though the air in the hallway of the Harlan Coal Company’s administration building was still and thick with the smell of dust and stale tobacco. He stood before the desk of the clerk, a young man with spectacles that magnified his eyes into flat, unblinking discs, and waited for the silence to break. Elias was forty...
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