The Altar of Final Light
The fog pressed against the windows of 14 Pemberton Crescent like a living thing, and within the gas-lit gloom, Edgar Thorne sat at his desk sketching equations that would, he believed, describe the fundamental architecture of reality. Behind him, the muffled sounds of London carried through the glass -- a hansom cab clattering over wet cobblestones, a street vendor calling the hour, the...
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