The Ghost Memory
The chip was warm when Margot Fielding put it on my desk. Not body-warm—machine warm, like it had been sitting in a pocket next to something that ran hot. I didn't ask about that. In New Carthage, you learn not to ask about the things that are warm when they shouldn't be. I was Elias Grant, forty-five years old, former homicide detective, current private eye, and the proud owner of a left eye...
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