A glow of street lanterns reflected against the fog. The air was dull and heavy. Shaxper could hardly wait to mount his horse and get out of London. He felt sick to his stomach as he walked past the homes of half-dead people writhing in agony as their loved ones wept and waited for Death to come, not as an avenging angel but as a peacemaker. He turned up his collar to protect his face from the hot breath of disease and rounded the corner towards the stables.
Suddenly he realized he was being followed.
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