The Dredger
The rain in Chicago never stopped. It slowed, sometimes. It paused. But it never stopped. It fell on the Loop and the stockyards and the tenements of the West Side and the mansions of Gold Coast with the same indifferent persistence, as if the sky itself had decided that the city deserved to be wet and was not going to argue about it. Silas Vane lived above a speakeasy on South Wacker Drive....
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