The Covent Bird
The Covent BirdThe gas was still unlit when Eliza began her humming. Not a proper song, just the old tune her mother used to sing while peeling potatoes in the cellar of the tenement on Maiden Lane. Her fingers worked automatically among the chrysanthemums and spray roses, binding them into posies that would soon be worth more than the shillings jingling in her apron pocket."Heart's a lonely...
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