The Distant Threshold
The fog does not roll in here; it seeps up from the cobblestones, a living mist that clings to the ankles and dampens the lungs. You stand on the corner of Blackfriars Lane, the collar of your coat turned up against the chill, watching the shadows of the pedestrians stretch and warp on the wet pavement. They do not move with their owners. A woman in a grey shawl walks briskly toward the...
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