The Frozen Throne
## Part I The rain in London did not fall so much as it hovered, a fine grey mist that seeped into everything—the wool of Thomas Blackwood's coat, the stone of the warehouse walls, the bones of his twenty-four years. He stood before the iron door in Whitechapel and pressed his eye to the keyhole, though he knew no one would see him. The Blackwood family had seen to that. The letter from his...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews