The figure crouched on the railing of the tenement balcony, snow swirling around its ragged cloak. It was tall, thin, and ghostly pale. The gaslight danced in its glassy eyes.
Inside the apartment, the child watched it fearfully.
The figure reached into a pocket and produced a pair of oranges, setting them on the windowsill. It put a finger to its bloodless lips.
Rumors said a hero defended the tenements, standing up to the greedy landlords and corrupt politicians. They said he wore a ghastly costume to hide his identity.
The figure leaped into the snowy night and was gone.

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