The Wistful Ashes
Chapter One The threshing floor at ninety-six of Lantern Yard was a sea of chaff and dust, where the parish worked in a grim, rhythmic silence that masked the grinding of grain. Eugene Muncy moved through the crowd, his hands stained with the dark residue of the dye-house, keeping his back to the communal bell tower that watched the flat, waterlogged Fens. He was thirty-four, and the air...
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