The Distant Metropolis
You can’t drive in this, Elias. The old man’s voice was a low rumble, distinct against the howling wind that battered the corrugated tin roof of the farmhouse, but Elias did not hear him, or perhaps he heard only the vibration of the words in his own molten bones, for his hands were shaking so violently that the plastic case of experimental analgesics clicked against his chest like a loose jaw....
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