The Other Shore of Time
I The fog that autumn of 1888 did not so much settle over London as invade it, seeping through windowpanes and down chimney throats, wrapping the city in a pallid shroud that turned gaslamps into bruised halos and reduced the Thames to a black ribbon dissolving into nothing. It was in this fog that Arthur Windsor first crossed the threshold, though he did not know it at the time. He had been...
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