The Golden Cellar
The rain in the industrial district did not fall so much as it was pressed down by the weight of the smog, a thick, yellowish curtain that hung over the slate roofs of the textile mills and the soot-blackened brickwork of the tenements. It was a grey, suffocating silence, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the steam engines and the distant, mournful wail of a factory whistle. In the center...
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