The Pale Bridge
"Check the pressure," I said. My voice was flat. It was not a request. It was a command. My brother, Elias, looked at the gauge. Then he looked at me. His eyes were wide. There was fear in them. There was also pity. I hated the pity. It made my skin itch. "The boiler is at two hundred," he said. "We need three hundred." "Arthur, that is not safe." "We need three hundred." He did not move. He...
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