The gull arrived on a Tuesday in November, wrapped in oilcloth the colour of old bruises.
Arthur Pendelton opened his front door on Whitechapel Road to find Captain Elias Voss standing on the step, a man he had not seen in ten years. Voss looked thinner than Arthur remembered, his face drawn tight over his cheekbones as though the skin had forgotten how to sit properly. His coat was damp with fog. "I brought you something," Voss said. His voice was a whisper, as though speaking...
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