The Faded Sutra
The rain that has fallen for three weeks does not so much wet the streets of London as it suffocates them, turning the cobblestones into slick, treacherous mirrors that reflect a sky so low and heavy with grey cloud it seems ready to crush the terraced houses beneath it, a relentless deluge that turns the air into a thick, wet wool that chokes the lungs and muddies the thoughts of everyone who...
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