The champion held the belt against his chest and listened to the fog-horns on th
The champion held the belt against his chest and listened to the fog-horns on the Thames. They moaned like something wounded, or perhaps like something that had been wounded and had not yet learned to stop making sound. The belt was leather and gold plate, heavy enough to make his right shoulder sore if he carried it too long. He had carried it for three weeks. Three weeks of photos in the...
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