The Monster in the Attic
The fog rolled in off the Thames like a shroud, thick and yellow, swallowing the gas lamps one by one as Thomas Harlow walked through the narrow streets of Whitechapel. His boots splashed through puddles of rain and something else he did not care to identify. At seventeen, he had already learned not to ask questions about the filth of London's East End. Questions led to answers, and answers led...
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