The Relief House
The fog in Londenmire did not lift. It settled, heavy and wet, like a wool blanket soaked in river water and draped over the city. It filled the streets, the alleys, the gaps between the buildings, the spaces between the ribs of men who slept with their coats pulled tight around them. The gas lamps cast yellow halos that reached perhaps six feet before the fog swallowed them again. Edmund...
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