The Gradient of Mercy
Arthur Pendelton stepped off the Long Island Rail Road train at Patchogue station with a leather valise in his right hand and a moral certainty in his chest that he would not allow the salt air to corrode. He was twenty-four years old, a junior field evaluator for the Winslow Foundation, and he believed in the binary nature of things. Worthy or unworthy. Pass or fail. Zero or one. The...
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