The Last Glimmer of London
The fog did not merely drift through the streets of London; it possessed them. It was a thick, jaundiced shroud that tasted of sulfur and coal-smoke, clinging to the damp cobblestones and muffling the desperate cries of the East End. In a cellar beneath a crumbling tenement in Spitalfields, Arthur lived in a world of shadows and glass. Arthur was a man of precise habits and profound loneliness....
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