The Thames at the End of the World
The plague took them all on a Tuesday. Not a fever, not a bomb, not a war—just a silence so complete that by dawn every adult in London had simply ceased to breathe. No bodies piled in the streets. No screams. Just the quiet ticking of wall clocks in empty mansions, and the sudden, overwhelming realization that no one was left to tell the children what to do. Arthur Pemberton was fourteen when...
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