The Golden Downtown
The watch in your breast pocket ticks backward, a soft, wet sound like a snail dragging its shell across wet slate, and you know with a cold, clinical precision that you have just lied to Mr. Gable about the variance in the Chicago Mutual life insurance ledger. You are Arthur Vane, thirty years old, a junior actuary who has spent the last six months sleeping on a cot in the corner of this...
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