The Temperature at Which Steel Forgets Itself
Cornelius Vane had not slept in forty-one months. He did not say this to anyone, because men of his station did not speak of such things, and because the sleeplessness was not of the body but of something deeper — a kind of spiritual insomnia that left him walking and talking and signing papers while some essential part of him remained perpetually awake, staring at a ceiling that was not there....
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