The Golden Echoes
Act I The slate quarries of Cwm Rhondda groaned under the weight of the morning shift, a low, tectonic rumble that traveled through the soles of every worker’s boots as the steam from the tea urns rose in thin, white ribbons against the grey sky. The town itself was a sprawl of terraced houses clinging to the hillside, their chimneys stacked like bricks in a child’s unfinished tower, while the...
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