The Distant Metropolis
Thorne, you are late for the intake." The voice belonged to Mrs. Gable, and it carried the specific, dry chill of a room where the heating has been turned down to save on the gas bill. You stood in the doorway of the Ministry of Records, your coat still damp from the walk across the square, and you felt the heat of the second set of keys in your pocket pressing against your thigh like a brand....
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