The Iron Mask's Shadow
The fog rolled thick off the Thames when Arthur Blackwood returned to St. Giles, twenty years after the workhouse had spat him out. He wore a greatcoat of black wool, tailored in Savile Row, and a face that no tailor could have fashioned. The iron mask covered everything from brow to jaw, polished to a mirror shine that caught the gaslights and threw them back as cold stars. The workhouse gates...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior