The Man Who Would Not Bow
The champagne flutes caught the light of the chandeliers like a thousand tiny suns, and Jack Morrison wanted to throw his through the window. It was 1925, and New York was dancing itself to death on the edge of a cliff no one wanted to look over. The war was over—what war, nobody could quite agree, though Jack knew exactly which war it was, and he knew exactly which jungle it had been, and he...
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