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17/09/1995
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The Patient from BelowDr. Evelyn Blackwood had been treating soldiers for fourteen months when she began to suspect that the war was happening inside their heads. The facility was a converted country estate outside New Carthage, all white corridors and padded rooms and the faint smell of carbolic and iodine. It housed the military's most difficult cases: men and women who had been brought back from the front lines...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 BewertungenBitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
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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 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The mansion on blackwood hillThe house had been dying for one hundred and fifty years, and Atticus Blackwood was its last physician. Or perhaps its last mourner. He was not sure which. Blackwood Manor stood on a hill above the Savannah River in South Carolina, a sprawling Victorian structure of faded white pillars and purple ivy that had grown over the cracks like a scar tissue trying to hold the building together. The...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 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 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Glass DriverThe heat in the Nevada desert was a tangible thing, a weight that pressed down on everything that moved. I had been driving for six hours, past the skeletal remains of ghost towns and the bleached bones of cattle that had chosen the wrong patch of shade to die under. The road was a straight black line through the white earth, and the only company I had was the sound of my own engine and the...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Wrong Side of SilenceThe Last Goodbye The postcard came on a Thursday. It was postmarked from Mexicali, Mexico, and bore the familiar handwriting of a man I hadn't spoken to in seven years. Danny Rossi. I turned it over in my hands like a card in a poker game I didn't want to play but couldn't refuse to sit at. The front showed a picture of a desert landscape—brown hills, blue sky, a road that stretched off into...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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Remnants of the ManorThe white stuff on the floor wasn't tomato sauce. Tom knew that now. He had learned a lot of things in thirty-five years, most of them without anyone teaching him and most of them that nobody believed when he tried to tell them. He was on his knees in the地下 level of the Manor, third floor down, cleaning a stain out of the concrete with a brush he had found in a mop closet that used to belong...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 0 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Dawn SignalThe signal had been traveling for two million years when it reached humanity, and it had already reached seventeen other civilizations before that. Each one received it at the same point in their development: the moment their technology surpassed their wisdom by exactly the amount that wisdom was needed. The signal came from a dying star system 800 light-years away. Dr. Elena Vasquez had...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 10 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Brighton TidesEliza Marsh was polishing the glass of Display Case 17 when she noticed him standing in the doorway. The beetles from the Mediterranean collection were arranged beneath her hands, their pin-stilled bodies gleaming in the gaslight. He was tall for a museum lecturer — tall for anything, really — and he wore his tweed jacket like it was armor against the world. "The Latin," he said, and she looked...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 6 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Hog and the SqueezeThe fog came down off the moors like a guilty thing, creeping through the lanes and swallowing the hedgerows until Blackwood Estate existed in nothing but a small sphere of gaslight around the farmhouse windows. Tommy Hewitt stood in the yard with his satchel and his contract and watched it come. He was nineteen, lean from years of working without eating enough, and he had learned to read...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Sovereign's Microcosm## Act I — The Assignment William Cavendish arrived in Calcutta in the autumn of 1844, twenty-six years old, freshly graduated from Oxford with a degree in classics that he had enjoyed and a degree in political economy that he had endured. His father, a retired East India Company officer who had made his fortune in textile trade and his regrets in country house conversation, had used every...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 12 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Iron Ark of Blackwood ManorI was born in the year of the Long Dusk, when the sky stopped moving and the great furnaces of the earth began their terrible breathing. My mother told me that the last sunset lasted three days, that the sun hung on the horizon like a wounded animal refusing to die, and that I arrived into this world as the final ember slipped beneath the hills. She said I cried then, though I have no memory of...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 12 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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