The Golden Greenhouse
Chapter One Light in the reclaim dome did not behave as it did in the open fen, where the sky stretched wide as the sea; here, it was trapped, heavy, and yellow, pressing against the printed streets of the canvas walls. Henri Girard, forty-two, stood before the central bed of rice, his hand trembling over the soil sample, a crack in his porcelain mask of rigidity. He needed this soil declared...
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