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186 Publicações
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Female
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10/02/1988
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THE PATIENT FROM BELOWDr. Arthur Voss could not remember how he had arrived at the hospital. This was not, strictly speaking, true. He remembered driving through Vienna on a February evening in 1896, the gas lamps casting amber pools on the wet cobblestones, the carriages bouncing over puddles that reflected the windows of the cafés where men sat drinking brandy and talking about the future of the Balkans. He...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Vector Between the Can and the Grave: A Journalist's Journey Through the Semantic Space of American Food SafetyMargaret Chen stood in the reading room of the New York Public Library on a cold January morning in 1905 and tried to understand why she could not stop thinking about a can of corn. The can was in front of her, on the reading table, in the special collections room where the librarian had brought it from the basement archives with the solemnity of a religious relic. It was an ordinary tin can of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Hub in the Supply Chain: How One Wholesaler Connected the Boone Cannery to Every Table in Five StatesMonday, August 10, 1897. On the cannery production floor in lower Manhattan, the morning heat was already unbearable. The women at the sorting tables worked with handkerchiefs tied around their foreheads, and the men at the retort stations moved slowly, deliberately, as if the heat had turned their limbs to lead. Three hundred and twelve workers, mostly Irish and Italian immigrants, processed...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Paradox of the Last Page(V-04: Psychological Thriller) The sky over the Wasteland was the color of a bruised plum, a permanent twilight that smelled of sulfur and old iron. Silas lived in the hollowed-out shell of a library, a cathedral of rotting paper and crumbling stone. He was the last man who knew how to read, and in his trembling hands, he held the only surviving copy of the Great Encyclopedia. To the children...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Font of InsignificanceThe office was a cathedral of white noise and fluorescent light. It was a space designed to erase the individual, a place where the air smelled of ozone and desperation. Sarah was an administrative assistant, a ghost in a pencil skirt whose primary function was to make the lives of the executives seamless. Her tormentor was a Senior VP named Marcus, a man who practiced a form of psychological...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Chrome and the SourceChrome and the Source The Deep Array data stream was not interesting. It never was. Band 7 of the orbital monitoring network was a background noise filter — a continuous sweep of electromagnetic frequencies beyond Neptune's orbit, collecting data that nobody read, stored on servers that nobody maintained. Leo Chen was nobody's favorite person to assign to Band 7. He was twenty-six, unmodified,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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# The Girl in the Well# The Girl in the Well ## 第一幕:起势(约20%) The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker. I was sitting in my office on Sunset Boulevard, watching water run down the window in thin brown streams, nursing a whiskey that cost less than the glass it was in, when the phone rang. It was a woman's voice, crisp and expensive. "Mr. Morisson? I'm looking for a private...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Star VigilThe signal arrived on a summer night in 1924, when Long Island was still all marsh and summer houses and the city was a glow on the horizon that Julian Ashworth mostly ignored. He had inherited his grandfather's private observatory three months ago, along with a mountain of unpaid bills and a telescope that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. Julian was twenty-eight, handsome in...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 7 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Feast of ThornsThe Feast of Thorns I. The dining table at Beauregard stretched fourteen feet of black walnut, scarred by decades of family dinners and one last dinner in 1919 that no one in the family would discuss. Cora Beauregard set it for twelve on a Sunday evening in October 1924, when the humidity had finally broken and the bayou air smelled of salt and decaying cypress and something older—something...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Nodes Between Bayonne and the Upper East SideIn the network theory of human behavior, every person is a node, and every connection between people is an edge, and the pattern of edges determines the flow of everything that matters: information, disease, money, love, violence, despair. A network is not a story—it has no beginning and no end, no protagonist and no antagonist—but it can generate stories, the way a loom generates fabric, by...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Recursion of KnivesYou want to know how I betrayed Vaughn? It's a simple story. Eight words: I gave him what he wanted and called it justice. But simple stories are never the whole truth. They're the surface of a pond, and underneath, the water goes down forever, and at the bottom there are other ponds, each one containing the same reflection, shrinking and repeating until you can't tell which is the original and...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Testimony of the Cypress Floorboard at Oakhaven, Mile Marker Zero, Ashley RiverI was a tree before I was a floor. I stood on the bank of the Ashley River for two hundred and forty years, and I watched the water come and go, and I thought, in the way that trees think, which is to say slowly and without language, that the water was a friend. The water brought me nutrients. The water cooled my roots. The water, in the dry years, was the difference between living and dying,...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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