The Pale Circus
You arrive at the gates of the St. Jude’s Industrial Orphanage and Home for the Indigent on a Tuesday in November, the air so thick with coal smoke that the sky above the city of Leeds is not a sky at all but a bruised ceiling, low and pressing against the rooftops of the surrounding tenements. You are Margaret Holloway, and you are holding a glass sphere, small enough to fit in the palm of...
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