The Wistful Saga
What does a man owe the state when the state is already broken? I asked the question to the glass case, where the Grand Meridian sat in its cradle of velvet. It was a fine instrument, or it had been, before the inspector’s hand came down on the bench. The faceplate was cracked now, a spiderweb of white fracture lines cutting through the painted sky of the dial. I had spent three hours under the...
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