The Spore in the Ice
Act I London, in the autumn of 1888, wore its fog like a shroud of wet wool, and no man who walked its streets could tell where the pavement ended and the heavens began. It was into this gray dissolution that Captain Arthur Blackwood received the letter which would undo him. The envelope was postmarked Darjeeling, the handwriting unmistakable—those precise, angular strokes of Lieutenant Edward...
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