The Golden Oath
The soot of Ashworth Mill did not settle; it hung, a suspended judgment over the town of Blackwater in the winter of 1892. Thomas Vane, twelve years old and hollow-eyed, scrubbed the grime from his knuckles with a rag that was already black, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, aching need to possess something solid. He wanted the golden brooch. It was not merely jewelry;...
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