The Beggar's Bargain
I December 24th, 1888. The fog in Whitechapel did not roll in so much as it rose from the cobblestones themselves, thick as gruel and just as unappetizing. Thomas Grime sat with his back against the crumbling brick of St. Mary's ruin, his breath pluming in the cold like the ghosts of men he had once been. He was twenty-eight and looked fifty. His coat, if it could be called that, was a...
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