The Pale Tower
The first thing I counted was the ticks. Three hundred and twelve ticks in the minute, a steady, mechanical pulse that kept time with the failing of my own chest, which beat in an arrhythmic, jagged counterpoint, a heart that had spent forty years pumping salt water and now could barely push the blood through the veins of a man who sat in a dry, draughty study in 1912. I weighed the brass...
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