The Faded Road
The fog that rose from the River Thames did not merely obscure the world; it consumed it, a thick, grey wool that smothered the gas lamps and turned the cobblestones of Whitechapel into a slick, treacherous mirror, reflecting not the sky but the distorted, trembling shapes of those who walked within it, a liminal space where the rigid architecture of Victorian London seemed to dissolve into a...
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