The Great Silence began on an October evening in 1888, when the great clock in the heart of London struck thirteen.
Arthur Pendelton stood at the window of his family's Mayfair townhouse, watching the gas lamps flicker beneath a sky bruised purple by an unseasonal storm. Inside, the servants whispered of strange reports from South Africa—miners collapsing in the gold shafts, their faces frozen in expressions that had nothing to do with pain. Only the young, they said. Only those under thirteen survived....
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