The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-21 11:13:28 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended curtain of grey mist that blurred the edges of the city. It was the autumn of 1912, and the streets of London were slick with the runoff of industry, the smell of coal smoke and wet wool thick in the lungs. Thomas Whitmore stood at the window of his study, watching the world dissolve into the fog. He was a man of few words, a...

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