The Needle's Burden
London, 1847. The fog clung to the streets like a shroud, thick and yellow with coal smoke. Dr. Richard Thorne stood at his window in St. Bartholomew's Hospital, watching the gas lamps flicker through the mist. At forty-five, he had built a reputation as one of London's most skilled surgeons. His hands were steady, his mind sharp, and his pride absolute. He had not always been this way. Born to...
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