"Well?" she said. "Did they understand?"
The champagne in my glass had gone warm, but I drank it anyway. It was the least I could do for the men in expensive suits who were discussing how to turn my life's work into a weapon. I stood on the forty-second floor of the Blackwood Building, looking out over Manhattan. The city glittered below me like a field of scattered diamonds, and somewhere out there, Clara was probably dancing at the...
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