The Distant Metropolis
The first thing Elias counted was the hours, then the bricks, then the drawings. Fourteen hours until the train left. Three hundred and twelve bricks in the foundation of the new life he was trying to build. And forty-seven sheets of vellum, rolled tight, tied with twine, containing the only architecture that had ever felt true to him. He stood in the center of the apartment in Vienna, the air...
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