The Golden Cellar
Elias. The name was called out by the sergeant’s whistle, a sharp crack in the grey air of the yard, and he stood up from the mud where he had been sitting. It was October, 1914. The kit bag was heavy, packed with wool socks, two pairs of underclothes, a tin of bully beef, and a letter from Clara that he had read so many times the paper had gone soft at the edges. He wanted to go home. He...
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