The Golden Song
The rain lashed against the single-pane window of the boiler room office, a rhythmic, percussive assault that did little to drown out the low, resonant hum that Arthur Vane had come to expect, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of his bones rather than just his ears, a golden song that whispered of the machine’s superior soul. He adjusted his spectacles, the cold metal pressing...
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