The Ironbound Serpent
ACT I: THE BLOOD ON THE COBBLESTONES The fog came in off the Thames like a living thing, swallowing the gas lamps whole. Elias Thornwood stood at his workshop window on Wapping High Street, watching the Thames mudflats disappear into white. In the corner of his shop, Barnaby the hound stirred in his straw bed, a massive Irish Wolfhound with ears like worn velvet and a heart that trusted...
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