The Wistful Show

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2026-08-23 09:52:55 -

The Wistful Show

The coughing fit stopped only when the handkerchief came away red. I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my tunic, leaving a streak of rust against the wool, and looked at the clock. Six o’clock. The sun was setting over the Thames, painting the water in shades of bruised purple and gold, but I had no time for such things. I had to return to the boarding house on Farringdon Road before nightfall....

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