The Fan That Cuts
The Crown Theatre stood at the edge of Southwark like a rotten tooth in a decaying jaw. Its sign, once painted gold, had faded to the colour of weak tea, and the gas lamps that lined the approach to its doors flickered as though unwilling to illuminate what passed within. Yet every Thursday evening, when the hour struck seven, a queue would form—women in shawls pulled tight against the November...
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