The Breaking Point of Eleanor Ashworth
July heat pressed upon Manhattan like the lid of a sealed retort, and the gas lamps along Fifth Avenue seemed to flicker more weakly against the suffocating atmosphere. It was the summer of 1883, and the city had not been spared by rain in three months. The brownstone fronts stood pale and cracked, their iron railings glowing hot to the touch, their stoops radiating warmth long after midnight....
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