The Ashworth Conflagration
London, November 1887. The fog clung to Bloomsbury like a wet shroud, seeping through the cracks in Julian Ashworth's window and settling over his canvases like a funeral pall. He was twenty-four, and he was being evicted in less than forty-eight hours. The knock came before dawn—three sharp raps, the kind that don't tolerate hesitation. Julian opened the door to find a man who looked as though...
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