The Last Theorem
The jazz in the nightclub was a frantic, brassy scream that filled the gaps in Julian's soul. It was 1924, and New York was a city of gold and glass, a place where everyone was running away from something or toward a mirage. Julian sat in the corner booth, a glass of untouched gin before him, his notebook open to a page of equations that looked more like a prayer than mathematics. Julian was a...
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