The Silent Echo of the Thames
The fog of 1890s London did not just cling to the cobblestones; it seeped into the very marrow of Arthur’s bones. He stood by the railing of the Victoria Embankment, his coat frayed at the cuffs, watching the grey river churn like a dying beast. Arthur had once been the Lion of the Transvaal. In the scorching heat of the veldt, he had commanded a regiment with a precision that bordered on the...
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