The Plague Doctor's Bargain
The fog rolled in off the Thames that October, thick and yellow as old wool, pressing against the windows of the tenement on Golden Square like something alive. Inside, Edward Morstan sat in the corner of his single room, polishing the beak of his mask with a rag soaked in vinegar. The mask was new—well, two weeks new. He had had it custom-made by a cooper who owed him a favor, the kind of...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 4 Views 0 previzualizare