The Wistful Voyage
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a scream, a high, thin sound that tore through the damp silence of the city and set the rain alight. It started in the lower districts, where the brickwork was old and the timber soft, and it climbed the facades of the tenements like a living thing, hungry and white-hot. By the time the sirens began their mournful wailing, the sky above the...
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