The Distant Wound
Thorne. The name was not spoken so much as it was dragged across the linoleum floor of the inspection hall, a low, guttural sound that seemed to rise from the dust itself rather than the mouth of the foreman standing at the head of the table. Elias Thorne looked up from the bolt of gray wool he was holding, his fingers already stiffening against the fiber, and saw the foreman’s face twisted in...
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