The Victorian Silence
The fog of 1890s London did not merely cling to the cobblestones; it seeped into the very marrow of the city, a grey shroud that mirrored the suffocating atmosphere of the Foreign Office. Arthur sat in his study, the mahogany desk cluttered with encrypted cables and half-empty glasses of sherry. He was a man of thirty-five, though the hollows beneath his eyes suggested a century of exhaustion....
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