The Wistful Saga
"Your father’s hand is shaking, boy. The ink won’t take." The voice came from behind the desk, flat and dry as the dust that coated the ledger’s pages, and you stood there, twelve years old, your boots caked in the black mud of the Appalachian tracks, feeling the weight of the silence in the small office of Harlan Coal Company. Mr. Gable did not look up from the paper; he only turned a page...
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