The Weight of Lies
The fog rolled off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow as old wool. Thomas Bluffworth stood at the window of his lodging house in Whitechapel and watched it swallow the streetlamp whole. He was twenty-five years old and had spent every day of his life learning how to say things that were not true in a way that made people believe them more. It had begun, as these things often do,...
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