The Shadow at the Riverbank
The fog in London does not descend so much as rise, emerging from the Thames like a slow exhalation from the chest of a dying leviathan, carrying with it the odours of a city that has forgotten how to be clean and has not yet learned to be ashamed of its filth. It rolled down from Chelsea and Paddington and all the neighbourhoods that had names but no souls, names spoken by people who lived...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 2 Vue 0 Aperçu