The Distant Metropolis
The ink was wet, which was the first thing that bothered Arthur, though he told himself it was the cold that made his fingers tremble as he held the page up to the gaslight. "You are looking at the column again, Arthur," Halloway said, not looking up from his own ledger. The superior’s voice was dry, stripped of any warmth, like paper rubbed against stone. "It is a clerical error. A smudge....
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