The Last Candle of London
The fog did not roll in; it arrived as a mathematical certainty. By the autumn of 1888, the "Grey Veil" had already claimed the East End, turning the sprawling slums of Whitechapel into a series of exquisite, lifeless postcards. To step into the fog was to be stripped of depth, to have one's history and flesh pressed into a single, infinitesimal plane. Arthur Penhaligon, a clockmaker whose...
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