The Golden Master
Chapter One Glasgow in 1912 was a machine that ate men and exhaled steam, a city of iron and soot where the Clyde ran black and the closes stacked like rotting teeth. The air tasted of brine and coal dust, a gritty film that coated the tongue and settled in the lungs of every worker from the shipyards to the tenements. I was Calum Paisley, a border constable by trade but a millwright by...
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