The man in the mirror wore Edward's clothes. He had worn them for three years now, and they fit better than any clothes Arthur Penhaligon had ever owned.
Newgate Prison had not been kind to Arthur. Three years inside for stealing a pocket watch from a man who did not miss it. Three years of rats, of bread that tasted of sawdust, of other prisoners who had forgotten their own names. When the man in the black coat found him in the yard, Arthur was sitting on a stone wall, watching the rain fall through the bars. "I have a proposition for you," the...
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