The fog had been hanging over Whitechapel for three days when the matron saw Tommy Grubb kneeling in the mud beside the little girl.
Thomas Grubb was a tall man with hands like shovels and a mind like a child's. He worked at the coal yard on Commercial Street and could haul more in a day than any four other men, but he could not count past twelve or tie his own bootlaces. He had a daughter named Maggie, ten years old with eyes the color of winter sky, and together they occupied a single room above a shuttered haberdashery...
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