The Blind Navigator
The basement smelled of damp stone and old soot, and the fog outside was so thick that even the gas lamp on Commercial Road looked like a bruised peach -- dim, uncertain, about to go out. Arthur Thorne sat in his chair and listened to the children breathe. Six of them, maybe seven -- he could not see, but he could hear the difference between a child who had eaten today and one who had not. The...
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