The Echoes of a Frozen Hour
Jack Halloran had always known that time was a thief, but he never imagined it could be a jailer. In the autumn of 1924, he stood in a cramped Queens laboratory, the smell of formaldehyde thick in the air, watching his wife, Kathleen, slip into a chemically induced winter. He had lost an arm at Belleau Wood, but the void in his chest—the certainty that the world was a chaotic, senseless...
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