The Distant Metropolis
The shatter of the glass was not a sound so much as a silence that broke open, a sudden, violent exhalation of the world’s held breath that left the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air of the study like suspended ghosts. Arthur Penhaligon did not flinch. He stood with his back to the window, his spine rigid as a plumb line, watching the fragments of the Meridian Orrery, the astrolabe he had...
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