The Last Telescope
The fog of London in 1882 did not just swallow the streets; it swallowed hope. Arthur Penhaligon, once the darling of the Royal Astronomical Society, now lived in a townhouse that smelled of damp paper and old gin. His reputation had been incinerated three years ago when he claimed the stars were not distant suns, but eyes—eyes that were slowly closing. Arthur stood by the Great Telescope, his...
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