The Distant Machine
The water came not with a roar but with a low, vibrating hum that Elias Thorne felt in the marrow of his shinbones before he saw the black line of the river cresting the concrete lip of the sub-basement, a sound that synchronized with the thumping of his own heart until he could not tell where the man ended and the machine began, and he wrote the date, October the fourteenth, in the wet,...
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