The Temperature at Which Steel Forgets It Was Iron
The pressure had been building for thirty-one years. Augustus Hartwell could feel it now, on the evening of Thursday, November the fourteenth, 1887, seated alone in his private office on the forty-first floor of the Hartwell Steel and Rail Building at the corner of Broadway and Exchange Place, as the gas lamps hissed their pale amber glow across a desk buried in ledgers. He was fifty-four years...
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