The fog rolled off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow and smelling of coal smoke and s
The fog rolled off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow and smelling of coal smoke and sewage. Arthur Winslow stood on the bridge outside Holloway Debt Prison, his collar turned up against the damp, and watched the water swallow the gas lamps one by one. Inside that prison, his father had hanged himself three years ago. Arthur held his solicitor's certificate in his pocket, the...
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