The Man Who Couldn't Tremble
The rain in London didn't fall so much as it materialized, appearing out of the gray like a threat kept long enough to become real. Tom Blackwell stood under the awning of a closed bookshop on Whitehall Street and watched it turn the street into a river of reflected headlights. He had been standing there for twelve minutes. Twelve minutes was enough time to analyze a situation, twelve minutes...
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