The Wistful Grid
Chapter One The slate town of Llanfyllin wakes before the sun, a grid of grey roofs stitched by walls that climb the terraced hills like the ribs of some buried beast. The match factory whistle cuts the air at six, sharp and final, signaling the shift for the men and the women who feed the machines with their hands and their breath. Gethin Bevan walks the one hundred and nine Tannery Steps to...
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