The Distant Crown
"Drink it, Tom, drink it before the whistle, or you’ll be in the workhouse by morning." The words hung in the damp air of the basement, heavy with the smell of wet wool and the metallic tang of the liquid in the glass, and Thomas Vane, twelve years old and already carrying the weight of a man’s exhaustion in his shoulders, stared at the amber glow pulsing within the vessel. His father, Arthur,...
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