The Sound of Brass
Thomas Blackwood first heard the gong before he saw it. It was a London in which the fog was not weather but architecture—walls of gray vapor that compartmentalized the city into rooms, each room a separate world with its own laws, its own sounds, its own version of madness. Thomas lived in a house in Whitechapel that had belonged to his father, who had belonged to his father, and so on, going...
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