The Faded Shield
"Tell him the shawl is wrong, Madame, tell him the dye has run and the fabric is ruined, for I will not wear a garment that smells of the rotting cane fields." Jerome Vidrine, thirty-four years old and hollowed out by the winter of 1893, stood in the doorway of the distillery, his satchel heavy with the weight of papers that meant nothing to the men who held power. He was a foreman in name...
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