The Faded Shield
Chapter One Who says a shield is not a hand? Alice Sturgis asked the question to the empty queue at the venereal clinic on forty-two of Candlewick Row, the smell of carbolic soap and damp wool hanging thick in the air. She was thirty-four, a constable with a strike fund nearly spent, and she stood beside her younger brother Thomas, whose fingers were stiffening into rigid, bone-white...
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