The Distant Crown

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2026-08-20 15:28:45 -

The Distant Crown

The fog came in thick and gray, smelling of sulfur and wet coal. It rolled over the cobblestones of Blackfriar’s Lane, swallowing the gaslights until the street was a void. Thomas stood by the alley mouth, his fingers black with soot, his breath a white plume in the chill. He was twelve, though his eyes held the weight of sixty. He knew the rhythm of the city now. The clang of the hansom cabs....

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