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173 Publicações
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Female
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14/05/1971
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The Last Drink at Miller'sThe rain in Oakhaven didn't wash anything away; it just turned the dust into a thick, suffocating mud. Tom sat at the far end of Miller's Bar, staring at a glass of cheap rye that tasted like kerosene. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a ghost. He was just a man who knew how to move a package from point A to point B without being seen, a skill he had learned in the gutters of the Midwest. He had been...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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Their WorldI. The swamp breathed. That was the first thing Elias noticed when he arrived in Louisiana—a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction of warm, wet air that rose from the Mississippi delta like the chest of a sleeping giant. Crocodians moved through the dark water without sound. Cicadas sang in the cypress trees. And the humidity clung to Elias's human skin like a second layer, heavy and...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Sample V-08: The Labyrinth of Logic(Style B1: New York Modernism) Leo viewed the world as a series of coordinates, a grid of cause and effect that could be solved if one only had enough data. As an installation artist in a converted warehouse in DUMBO, his latest project was an attempt to map the "geometry of a lie." He had spent six months building a physical maze of translucent acrylic walls, a shimmering, transparent prison...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Woman in the StarsThe first patient told me about the signal on a rainy Tuesday in October, and I filed it under auditory hallucination with possible psychotic features and moved on to the next name on my schedule. That was my professional assessment. My personal assessment--the one I didn't write in any chart, the one I didn't tell Richard, didn't tell anyone--was that the boy was lying. Not deliberately. He...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Crown of Empty SkiesThe Crown of Empty Skies THE FUNERAL The ceremony lasted three hours and twenty-seven minutes, and Lysandra stood through every second of it with her spine straight and her face still and her mind already three steps ahead, calculating the cost of silver in the funeral banners, the number of mourning guards at each gate, the weight of the crown that would sit on her head in exactly four hours....0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Teacher of VerdunAct One: The Beginning (起势) The village of Fleury-devant-Damvillers had no name left. What had been a name once--carved into the stone arch at the road's entrance, painted on the facade of a church that no longer had a roof--had been erased by artillery fire. The stones remained. The archway stood, cracked but upright, like a ribcage with its heart removed. Beyond it lay nothing but the ruins...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Format ErrorThe formatting happened on a January fourth, which was poetic in the way that only coincidence can be poetic when you're not looking for poetry. I was sitting in a basement in downtown Manhattan, eating a sandwich that tasted like bread and regret, when my screen went black. Then it came back, and every number on it was zero. Not corrupted. Not scrambled. Zero. The kind of zero that means...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Seeds of the Bright BeyondSeeds of the Bright Beyond The light was small. No bigger than a match head. But in the cellar of Lincoln Park--in the dark beneath the roots of the old oak tree--it was the brightest thing Oliver had ever seen. He dropped his trowel. It landed in the loam with a soft thud. The two shapes did not move. They sat cross-legged on the earth, glowing with a warm, golden light that made the cellar...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE SIGNAL FROM LILY BRENNANThe office was on State Street, third floor of a building that smelled of boiled cabbage and old plumbing and the faint, sweet-sour smell of whiskey that seeped up from the bar downstairs. It was a small office—just a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet that stuck when you pulled the second drawer, and a window that looked out over a brick wall so close I could touch it if I leaned far enough out...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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ACT IDr. Julian Frost found his own biography in a Taiping archival document, written in 1854—twenty years before he was born. The discovery happened on a Tuesday, in the imperial archives of Tianjing, where Julian had spent the last three months cataloging rebel propaganda and religious texts for his forthcoming Oxford publication. He was thirty-two, a man of meticulous habits and rational...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 14 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Keeper of the StacksTHE KEEPER OF THE STACKSACT ONE: THE EXPLOSIONArthur Winslow restored books for thirty-one years and had never finished a sentence without wondering, at some point, whether the words meant what they were supposed to mean.He worked in the basement of the New York Public Library on 42nd Street, in a room that smelled of glue and aging paper and the particular sadness of things that have been read...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Manor by the FensI was fourteen when I first walked across the moor to the Ashworth estate. The Yorkshire wind was already sharp that October, carrying the scent of wet peat and decaying bracken. My job was to cut the overgrown grass along the eastern approach—what remained of a lawn that hadn't seen a proper lawnmower in thirty years, since Mr. Ashworth left and the world turned its back on this piece of the...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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