The Distant Metropolis
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the lower district into a slick, black mirror reflecting nothing but the bruised sky above, and as I stood there on the corner of Harrow Street, waiting for the fog to lift enough to see the shape of the man who was coming to take me away, I realized with a sudden, cold clarity that I had spent the...
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