The Distant Metropolis
The smoke of the foundry was not merely an atmosphere but a physical substance, a grey, soot-heavy blanket that pressed against the skin of the city, London, as it clung to the lungs of those who dared to breathe it, transforming the very air into a particulate suspension of iron oxide and coal dust that obscured the stars and blurred the distinction between the earth and the heavens. Arthur...
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