The Golden Visit
The rain had not stopped for three days, and it was not a gentle rain but a heavy, industrial downpour that turned the cobblestones of the old district into a slick, black mirror reflecting the gaslight and the grey, soot-stained facades of the tenements where Thomas Bradshaw lived, worked, and slowly, imperceptibly, unraveled. He was a man of few words and many hands, a baker by trade but a...
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