The Golden Circuit
The wine was too warm, and the Minister’s sleeve was silk, a fact that Taro Suzuki registered with the cold precision of a man who had spent twenty years sorting mail by weight and origin, and in that split second, as the dark stain bloomed across the white fabric like a bruise, the heat in his left palm flared so violently that he gasped, his fingers clamping around the Minister’s wrist to...
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