The Golden Suspect
The coal dust in Blackwater did not settle; it hung in the air like a suspended judgment, coating the soot-blackened faces of the men who worked the veins of the earth. Thomas Vane, fourteen years old and already bearing the hollowed-out look of a man twice his age, stood before the mine office on a Tuesday in November, 1912, his breath pluming in the biting cold. He wanted to marry Elara by...
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