The Watchmaker's Debt
The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell upon London like a judgement, washing nothing clean, merely making the grime more luminous under the gas lamps. Elias Thorn stood beneath the Vance mansion's wrought-iron gate, his coat already soaked through, his boots leaking cold Thames water into his socks. He had been standing there since midnight. It was now approaching dawn. He did not...
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