The fog rolled off the Thames at half-past seven, thick and yellow...

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2026-06-12 13:58:59 -

The fog rolled off the Thames at half-past seven, thick and yellow as old wool. Thomas Ashworth stood at his window on Lambeth Road and watched it swallow the bridges, one arch at a time.

He had been waking at this hour for eleven years. Since he was a boy, sleeping on a pallet in the back room of the workhouse on Southwark Bridge. Eleven years, and the habit had stuck the way calluses stick to the hand. Below him, the street was still empty. A gas lamp flickered and went out. The fog took its place. Thomas turned from the window and walked to the small desk where he kept the...

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