Steam as thick as porridge hangs over New London year-round, billowing from towering chimneys and gear-geared factories along the Thames River, dyeing the sky an everlasting leaden gray. This is both the pulse of empire and the sigh of civilization. On the streets, gas street lamps light up on time at dusk, casting a dim and swaying halo. Gentlemen are leaning on canes, and ladies are rustling their skirts, talking about the latest drama or stock quotes. Everything is in order, as if human rationality and industrial power have completely tamed nature. However, everyone who lives here has a tacit understanding: the noise of steam may just be to cover up some deeper and more disturbing "sounds".
