The Honest Vice
London in the autumn of 1895 is a city of masks. Everyone wears one. Some are made of porcelain, some of paper, some of something that looks like a face until you look too closely. I have worn mine for forty years and I am beginning to forget what lies beneath it. My name is Lord Julian Ashworth. I am forty years old, I inherit money I do not trust, and I have been assigned to investigate an...
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