The Ledger of Lost Souls (V-01: Victorian Melancholy)
The rain in London did not fall; it descended like a heavy, grey curtain, blurring the lines between the soot-stained brick of the East End and the oppressive sky. Arthur Penhaligon, a man whose spine was as rigid as the ledgers he kept, stood before the iron gates of the Royal Exchequer. He was a man of precise habits and an inconvenient conscience. For fifteen years, Arthur had been the...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 3 Views 0 previzualizare