London's rainy season arrived on schedule, like a profound dirge that the sky sang to the earth. The lead-gray horizon hung low, enveloping the entire city in a hazy yet poetically charged atmosphere.
Fine strands of rain wove into a delicate net, sliding down the contours of Gothic spires, tapping on the cobblestone streets with a pitter-patter sound, like a conversation between rain and history. Hidden beneath this seemingly harmonious melody were tumultuous splashes of water waves.
The gas lamps on street corners flickered through the misty rain, their faint yet steadfast beams piercing the rain, casting light on the damp carriages and hurried pedestrians, casting unique silhouettes. The gentlemen and ladies, dressed in formal attire and hats and holding umbrellas, hurried along, their figures intermittently visible through the misty rain, as if entering a dreamland.
