The fog rolled in off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow as old wool. Inspector Irene
The fog rolled in off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow as old wool. Inspector Irene Adler stood at the window of her lodgings in Whitechapel and watched the gas lamps flicker through it, their light swallowed before it could reach the cobblestones below. Three months. Three months since Scotland Yard had cast her out, and still the cold from the windowpane seeped into her...
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