It is dusk on an autumn evening on the south side of the river thames, a few feet downstream from vauxhall bridge. Innumerable starlings have congregated in a murmuration underneath (in fact inside the fabric of) the bridge to noisily discuss the day before sleep. Overhead, cars and buses thump across the bridge panels, while small groups of city workers, nurses and spies head home or for drinks. All the while the river laps away as an unconscious heartbeat, and is churned up by the thrum of a passing riverboat.
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