The Golden Oath
Act I Gladys Muncy had spent ten years grinding herbs in a cellar that smelled of damp wool and rot, and she knew the weight of a life better than the weight of gold. It was the autumn of 1854, though the war in Crimea felt distant here in Cornwall, a rumor of blood carried on the wind from the sea. The air in the Guild Hall’s lower vault was cold enough to bite the skin, and the candlelight...
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