The Wistful Show
The warrant is in my hand, the paper stiff and cold, and I am looking at it as if it were a dead bird. "You can’t take the orrery, Mr. Vane," I said, my voice sounding thin in the crowded workshop. "It’s not just a clock. It’s a historical record of the celestial movements. You’d be destroying science." Vane didn’t look at the instrument. He looked at me. He was a young man, sharp-featured,...
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