The Golden Mirror
The rain that fell upon the soot-blackened streets of London did not wash the city clean but rather pressed it deeper into its own grime, a heavy, rhythmic drumming that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias Thorne as he stood huddled beneath the awning of a closed chandler’s shop on Fleet Street, watching the gas lamps flicker against the relentless downpour with the erratic, desperate...
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