The Seamstress of Blackfriars

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2026-06-09 12:32:44 -

The fog on the Thames did not roll in that night so much as it descended, heavy and yellow as a bruise. Eleanor Marsh stood at the edge of the wharf and felt the iron chains around her wrists grow cold enough to burn. Her father Abner stood three paces behind her, his breath reeking of gin and indecision. "Go on, then," Marguerite's voice had said that morning, pressing a shilling into Abner's...

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