The Formula of Stars
I. The notebook smelled of cordite and French tobacco. Tommy O'Brien found it in a crate of abandoned supplies behind a demolished building on 43rd Street, the kind of place that had been a laboratory before the war and a ruin after. He was twenty-one, a dishwasher at a French restaurant on Fifth Avenue, and he had been sent to scavenge by his boss, who figured there might be copper wire or...
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