The Golden Downtown
"Is it the current, or is it the soul of the iron?" I looked up from the ledger, the pen still wet with ink that smelled of iron and turpentine, and met the eyes of Director Halloway. He was leaning against the mahogany desk, his tie loosened by the heat of the gas lamps that flickered in the drafty office, casting long, wavering shadows across the blueprints spread out before us. The Meridian...
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