Ever since
William III's war on France stopped the flow of French Brandy to the British
Isles necessitating the invention of a new ersatz spirit, London has been
plagued by Gin drunkenness. Everyone is
making it. Everyone is selling it. Everyone is consuming it. And London's Gin Craze is not just a man's
game, nay every female from wet nurse to matron is consuming it. Neither tradition nor policing stifled their
drinking. On Gin Street, in this year of
our lord, 1844, a cloaked figure taps his way through a raucous throng of Gin-crazed
Londoners. Pausing before a heap of rags, he loudly taps
his cane against the pavement.
Startled, a ragamuffin darts out from the heap.
"No
Will!" emanates a voice from the
rag heap. "Stay with mommy."
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