A large rat scurried through straw and broken crates in the dark alley ways of London. The cry of stall keepers, rumble of wheels, the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer, the shouting of gruff men and moan of beggars was deafening. Small, pinch-faced children dressed in dirty rags with sooty faces from working in chimneys and mines scattered whenever anybody got close to them. Well fed and richly dressed people paraded the dirty, cobblestone streets standing out like bits of jewels in a mud puddle. A muddy river snaked underneath a bridge where several beggars sat hunched, their pitiful cries sounded like crows in a graveyard. And somewhere in the deepest, darkest alleyway a little pickpocket waited for his next victim. He carefully watched all the people on the streets and selected one, a fat man with top hat and a three piece black silk suit smoking a pipe. Slowly he walked out of his hiding place and stalked him for a while. Then when the time was right he pounced
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