The Oracle of Whitechapel
ACT ONE: THE ARRIVAL The fog rolled off the Thames like a shroud, thick and yellow as old bruised flesh. Arthur Blackwood pulled his coat tighter and stepped through the archway into Whitechapel, a man with nothing but a leather satchel containing three half-decayed astrology texts, a brass astrolabe he had bought for sixpence from a scrap merchant, and a conviction that he would starve before...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 6 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр