The Etheric Inheritance
The fog thickened over London like a shroud drawn across a dying man's face. Arthur Pendelton stood at the window of his garret room and watched the gas lamps flicker below, their yellow halos bleeding into the fog like watercolors on wet paper. "They're calling it a cathedral," Dr. Cornelius Blackwood said from the workbench, not looking up from his calculations. "An etheric cathedral....
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