The Resonator of Meridian House
Part One: The Machine That Sang The phonograph arrived on a Monday, wrapped in burlap and tied with twine, left at the door of Marcus Johnson's club on 135th Street with no note and no return address. Marcus unwrapped it in the back room after closing, and what he found inside made him set down his knife and stare. It was a phonograph, but unlike any he had ever seen. The horn was not brass but...
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