The Golden Master
Act I "You’re signing the waiver, Fintan, or you’re out." The voice belonged to Mr. O’Connell, the mine’s steward, a man whose suit cost more than Fintan Whelan made in a month. Fintan stood in the hallway of the mine office, the air heavy with wet wool and coal dust. He was forty-two, though his lungs felt eighty. He wanted to keep his breath clear, not for himself, but for Saoirse. Her...
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