The Surgeon's Shadow

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2026-05-26 07:32:54 -

I The fog rolled off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow and smelling of coal smoke and river mud. Edgar Wentworth stood at the window of his East End surgery and watched it consume the gas lamps one by one, as though the city itself were being swallowed by something older and hungrier than London. He was twenty-eight years old and already felt eighty. The Wentworth medical...

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