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10/05/1961
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The House on Caddo LakeThe cypress knees broke the black water of Caddo Lake like the knuckles of hands reaching up from the bottom. Caleb Beauregard stood on the porch of the house that had belonged to his grandfather and looked at them — the knees, the water, the Spanish moss that hung from the cypress trees like funeral drapes in a culture that had forgotten how to mourn and had replaced mourning with silence...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 BewertungenBitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
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V The Fine PrintThe woman walked into my office at midnight wearing a coat that cost more than my car and a expression that cost more than both of them put together. She said her name was Veronica Hayes and she had a story that needed to be told but not by her. She had a brother, she said, a little sister really, who was sick and who needed treatment that the city's hospitals were not providing, and she had...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 5 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Pi Prophet(V-08: New York Modernism) The subway station at 42nd Street was a subterranean hive of desperation and noise, a place where the air tasted of ozone and old sweat. In the center of the platform, sitting on a milk crate, was Clarence. He was a man who looked like he had been assembled from spare parts—a frayed tweed coat, glasses held together by electrical tape, and a chalkboard that had seen...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 5 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Black HoundThe rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt run faster. Silver knew this. She had been in LA for three days and she already understood that the rain here was different from the rain in Detroit. In Detroit, rain was honest. It fell from the sky and hit the ground and that was the end of it. In LA, rain was a lie. It promised to clean and delivered nothing. She was...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 6 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Hallway ObserverThe corridors of the West Wing were designed to amplify silence. In the winter of 1954, the air in the Executive Office Building was a mixture of expensive tobacco, floor wax, and the electric hum of a thousand secrets. Samuel Higgins had spent thirty-two years in these hallways. He was the same color as the walls—a beige man in a beige suit, a senior secretary whose primary function was to be...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 6 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Half-Teaspoon That Undid a KitchenThe Half-Teaspoon That Undid a Kitchen The Half-Teaspoon That Undid a Kitchen I. The soufflé had been perfect. That was the thing. It had been perfect, and a single half-teaspoon of cayenne had undone everything. Julian Croft, sous-chef at Le Coq Noir, stood over the ruined dish and felt the world tilt. Not because of the soufflé itself—soufflés collapsed, that was their nature—but because...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Last Seance ClubThe Last Seance Club The champagne was warm and tasted of copper, which was fitting, because that is exactly what the room tasted like to me—the metallic tang of a lie so large it fills your mouth before you even open it. "Miss Frost, if I may," said Mrs. Astor-Whitney, leaning forward in her velvet chair. Her diamonds caught the gaslight and scattered it across the walls of the Long Island...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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THE QUIET DESPERATIONTom Callahan was under Mrs. Kowalski's sink at 6:15 a.m., fixing a leak that smelled like cabbage and copper. The water was cold. His back hurt the way it always hurt now — a dull, constant ache that had nothing to do with any particular injury and everything to do with eleven years of working with his hands after the steel mill closed. He tightened the nut with his wrench, wiped his hands on...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 6 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Data ArchitectThe Consciousness Library sat inside a decommissioned data center in Neo-Shanghai's undercity, three hundred meters below street level. The facility had been built during the Corporate Expansion Era — the period between 2060 and 2080 when the megacorporations had turned the entire city into a vertical stack of profit centers, each floor a different commodity, each basement a different crime. By...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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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 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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THE LAST WALLThe stone was cold beneath Edward's gloved hands. He ran his palm along the face of it, feeling for the cracks his predecessors had spent a thousand years cataloguing. There were none today. The wall held. It always held. Edward Blackthorne, seventieth Lord Keeper of the Morvayne Ramparts, walked the parapet at midnight, as he had every night for twelve years. The moon was a sliver of bone in a...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 11 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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THE WEIGHT OF NOTHINGI Raymond Kowalski woke at 5:30 every morning. He dressed in the dark—dark trousers, dark shirt, the same jacket he had worn for five years. He ate toast with margarine. He drank coffee that was too weak because he had stretched the grounds with extra hot water. He walked out the front door at 5:45. The factory was two miles away. It took him twenty minutes to walk. He walked at the same pace...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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