Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry
Death in the Devil’s Acre
Anne Perry
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P.C. WITHERS SNEEZED as the icy January wind howled up the alley off the Thames. It was still three hours before dawn, and the gas lamps of the main streets barely lit this dismal passage on the very edge of the Devil’s Acre, swarming with filth in the shadow of Westminster itself.
He sneezed again. The smell of the slaughterhouse fifty yards away was thick in his throat, along with the stench of the ...