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... t the soft, grey veil poets once loved.
It was heavy, brackish, as if London itself had inhaled the the darkness while forgetting to breathe.
Britain had been an empire.
Now it was something else.
What exactly, no one seemed to know.
The Cabinet gathered in silence.
The chairs scraped slightly on polished oak as men older, thinner, wearier than the portraits behind them took their places.
Chamberlain sat at the head, pale and drawn.
...
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