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... ed over the Thames River, the gas lamps on the street cast semi-transparent halos, and the palace curtains were always half-drawn to keep its secrets from prying eyes.
In the office of the University of London, Arthur Hastings smoked alone.
The gunfire beneath the Tower of London, the despondency when exiled to Hanover, the frantic flight during the service in Russia, all were now fleeting memories.
In the vile, exceedingly mundane world of politics, it’s not always a bad ...
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