The Golden Downtown
The rain in London did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that settled into the pores of the skin and the pages of the book, creating a damp, pervasive weight that made the air feel heavy enough to hold a person up if they were light enough, or sink them if they were heavy. Arthur Pendelton sat in his study, a room that smelled of old paper and the faint, lingering scent...
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