The Last Jazz of Icarus
The wine cellar beneath the Long Island villa smelled of damp earth and forbidden vintage. Jack Morrison had converted it into a laboratory six months ago, when the prohibition agents had stopped looking—too busy chasing bootleggers in Brooklyn to care about a跛脚 veteran who rented the house for a pittance. Inside the cellar, beneath a sheet of canvas, sat his particle accelerator. It was not...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 8 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen