The Golden Harbor
The fog did not roll in from the sea; it rose from the ground like a slow, suffocating exhalation, swallowing the cobblestones of Harrowgate and the iron spires of the textile mills that dominated the skyline. It was a gray, industrial twilight, the kind where the soot from the chimneys mixed with the mist to form a paste that settled in the lungs and clung to the wool of coats. In this...
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