The Wistful Voyage
The shipyards of Glasgow churned under a heatwave that stripped the sky of any shadow, the air thick with the metallic tang of fresh rivets and the sour rot of unwashed wool. Catriona Sutherland stood at the rivet gun, her arm a dead weight against the trigger, the vibration rattling the teeth in her skull. She was thirty-four, a widow of the body if not the law, and the tin of wages on her...
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