The Golden Circuit
14 October, 1893. The rain falls in sheets. It beats against the glass of the attic window, a rhythmic, relentless drumming that sounds like the blood rushing in your own ears. You press your face against the cold pane. Outside, the city of Chicago stretches out, a labyrinth of iron and steam. The gas lamps flicker, orange eyes in the grey fog. You are not safe here. You are never safe here....
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