A Stove Gone Cold
- Cheap passage
Joan, the hand-stove they issued me went cold at curfew again, so I stayed up with the lamp and its one bright eye watching the wall. I know you’re angry, and I’m not writing to argue. Keep the boat. Don’t sell it for my sake. I’ll send the fare when I can face the gate, and not before. Tell Mam the wages are good here and that I’m warm, which is the worst part of it. Petra.