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04/06/1984
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THE PHOTOGRAPHER AT GROUND ZEROACT I: THE SHUTTER (20%) The photograph appeared on page three of The Metropolitan Ledger, beneath the headlines about stock prices and the theatre season. It showed a soldier—Tommy couldn't tell you which side, and neither could anyone else—kneeling in the ruins of a building, holding a child. The child might have been three years old. The child might have been five. The soldier's face was...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 0 Просмотры 0 предпросмотрВойдите, чтобы отмечать, делиться и комментировать!
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The Last Sacrifice (Expanded)The mud of the Somme was a hungry beast, swallowing men and machines with an indifferent appetite. It was a landscape of grey craters and jagged wire, where the air was a cocktail of chlorine gas and the metallic tang of blood. Liam was a soldier of the 11th Battalion, a boy from a farming village who had borrowed every cent his family owned to pay for his younger sister's surgery. He had...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 0 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Smith's SonThe desert beyond Antioch was a vast and merciless place, the kind of desolation that made men question every choice that had brought them there. On the third day of crossing it, the six scouts were down to four, their water skins light, their spirits lighter still. Elias of Blacksmith's End walked in the middle of the formation, his small frame moving with the steady, inexorable pace of...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 3 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Marrow of Bottom CreekThe hurricane named Marian had no business existing. It formed in July over the Gulf of Mexico, strengthened to a Category Four in thirty-six hours, and then—on the night it made landfall in Mississippi—disappeared. Not weakened. Not dissipated. Simply gone, as though it had been erased from the atmosphere itself. What remained was the silence. Clementine Beauregard arrived at her grandparents'...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 2 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Silent ProtocolThe rain in London did not fall; it drifted, a grey shroud that clung to the soot-stained brick of the East End. Arthur Penhaligon sat in the dim light of his study, the air thick with the smell of old parchment and stale tobacco. He was a man of precise habits and profound silences, a disgraced archivist who had discovered a truth that made the world feel like a fragile glass ornament. For...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Dawn ArkEvelyn Hart stood on the platform of Ark Five and watched the sunrise over the Manhattan ruins. The morning light caught the windmill she had designed herself—twelve stories tall, painted the color of dawn. Around it, three hundred souls were unpacking crates, testing soil, learning to live. This was not an escape. This was a beginning. "The soil tests are promising," said Francis Chang, her...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The jazz of fading starsThe music was dying, and nobody wanted to admit it. Not in New York, where the music was everything. Not in Chicago, where the music was the only thing. And certainly not in Julian Ashford, who had spent the last five years composing jazz that made people dance because they were afraid of what would happen when the music stopped. It was 1925, and the city was drowning in its own prosperity....0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 7 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Iron WardenThe storm broke over Yorkshire at half past nine on a Tuesday in October, 1888. Clara Thorne felt the house shudder as the first bolt struck the church tower three miles away. She stood in the workshop doorway, her breath fogging in the cold air, and watched her uncle Edgar pace before the great iron machine that filled the centre of the room like a crouching beast. "Edgar," she said, "the...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 9 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Watchers at the Edge of NightAct I The wheat leaf under the microscope looked dead. Yellow spots marred the green surface like small fires on a lawn, and Eleanor Marsh leaned closer to the eyepiece until her eye ached. The laboratory was a converted toolshed at the back of her father's farm, twenty acres of wheat in Dodge City, Kansas. It was 1923, and rust was eating the world's wheat supply. Every season, the disease got...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 2 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The GymThe gym was under the French Quarter and it smelled like sweat and humidity and something that might have been perfume or might have been decay. It was impossible to tell in New Orleans. Ruby stood in the doorway and watched the fighters move—circles in the dim light, like planets orbiting a dim star. The puncher hit the bag with a rhythm that sounded like rain on a tin roof. The spacer moved...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 12 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Herb of CompassionThe gunshot cracked through the Harlem night like fire breaking through thin paper. I was two blocks from my garden plot on 135th Street, gathering evening primrose under the orange glow of a streetlamp, when I heard it. Then I heard screaming. I ran toward the sound, my satchel of herbs swinging against my hip, and found a woman in a tattered white mink coat lying in an alley between a...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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THE CHIMNEY SWEEP'S LABTHE CHIMNEY SWEEP'S LABA Detective's Guide to Scientific DisastersI. THE FIRE BELOWThe first thing you learn when you're a PI in this city is that every fire has a cause. The second thing you learn is that the cause is almost never what it seems.My name is Elias Vance. I used to be a physicist. I worked at Princeton on theoretical models of energy propagation—fire, basically, but fancy. Then my...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 7 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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