The Golden Farce
The iron key ring hung heavy in my left hand, its cold metal biting into the palm as I shoved past the line of loom operators who stood with their arms crossed, watching me with the flat, hard eyes of men who had learned to expect violence but rarely to see it directed at their own kin. The air in the mill was thick with the particulate dust of raw cotton and the sulfurous tang of the dye vats,...
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