The Wistful Mirror
Caitriona Lenehan’s hands shook as the type clattered into the tray, the metal letters cold and sharp against her skin. The foreman, a broad man named O’Rourke, stood at the press, his shadow stretching long across the soot-stained floor of the Dublin Printing House. It was 1911, a year of rain that never seemed to stop, and the air in the shop hung heavy with the smell of ink and damp wool....
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