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180 Publicações
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28/01/1992
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The last light of New CarthageShe came to him on a night like any other—fog pressing against the gas lamps of the city, tide grinding itself against the limestone cliffs below the harbor. But this night, Arthur Blackwood was not himself. He had been awake for three days and two nights, pacing the stone floor of his study at Blackwood Manor, surrounded by pages of calculations that no sane man would believe. Then she...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 0 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça o login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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The Glass Ceiling of DataIn the sterile, fluorescent glare of a Manhattan skyscraper, Leo lived in a world of spreadsheets and keystrokes. He was a Junior Data Analyst at Vanguard Capital, a firm that treated human beings as mere variables in a high-frequency trading equation. Leo’s desk was a small, grey island in a sea of open-plan efficiency. His job was the most monotonous in the building: manual data entry for...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Dead Merit ScholarThe Dead Merit Scholar Act I I got the name Roxy because names are currency in Harlem, and Elizabeth O'Sullivan didn't buy well. You say your name out loud in the wrong bar on the wrong block, and suddenly everyone knows your business, your mother's location, your weakness. Roxy buys you time. Roxy sounds like something that could handle itself. Elizabeth sounds like something that needs...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE SILVER VEILBampton, Yorkshire, 1888 The mist clung to the moors like a shroud, and in the narrow streets of Bampton, where the cobbles gleamed wet under gaslight and the wind carried the salt-tang of the North Sea, a woman arrived who would change everything. Her name was Lin Meiling, though she told people to call her Mary Lin. She came with two trunks and a small iron box of tools, renting the ground...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE DARK NET FORESTThorne was dead, and the look on his face said he'd seen something that made dying the easiest part. Detective Marcus Holloway — Shade to everyone who mattered, which was nobody — crouched beside the body and examined the scene the way he'd examined three hundred and twelve other crime scenes in nineteen years on the L5 Station police force. Methodical. Detached. With a undercurrent of...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Crystallization of Danny ColeHe had been liquid for forty-two years. That was the thought that came to Danny Cole as he stood at the window of his office on Sunset Boulevard, watching the rain turn the neon signs into smeared watercolors against the darkening sky. Liquid, he thought. Able to flow around obstacles, able to take the shape of whatever container he was poured into, able to seep into cracks and fill them...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENTACT I: THE WINDOWLESS ROOM Lord Alistair Finch-Worthingham inherited Blackwood Park on a Tuesday in November, which seemed appropriate: Tuesdays were the kind of days on which serious things happened—inheritances, deaths, the slow realization that one's life has been a performance for an audience that stopped watching years ago. The house was exactly as one might expect a country house named...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Double Life of Thomas VanceThomas Vance opened the bookshop at nine in the morning and he closed it at six in the evening and he did exactly the same thing every day for three years. He straightened the books. He wiped the counter. He drank tea from a cup that said World's Best Bookseller in letters that were chipped and fading. He watched the people walk past the window and he thought about nothing. This was exactly...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 12 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENTACT I: THE WINDOWLESS ROOM Lord Alistair Finch-Worthingham inherited Blackwood Park on a Tuesday in November, which seemed appropriate: Tuesdays were the kind of days on which serious things happened—inheritances, deaths, the slow realization that one's life has been a performance for an audience that stopped watching years ago. The house was exactly as one might expect a country house named...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Observer arrived on a Tuesday in October, when the leaves had begun to fall in London and the foThe Observer arrived on a Tuesday in October, when the leaves had begun to fall in London and the fog had begun to return to the Thames, and Lord Edmund Blackwood was sitting in his study at Oxford, reading a book on quantum mechanics that he understood only partially and wished he understood completely. The door opened without a knock. The man who entered was tall, handsome, and entirely...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENTACT I: THE WINDOWLESS ROOM Lord Alistair Finch-Worthingham inherited Blackwood Park on a Tuesday in November, which seemed appropriate: Tuesdays were the kind of days on which serious things happened—inheritances, deaths, the slow realization that one's life has been a performance for an audience that stopped watching years ago. The house was exactly as one might expect a country house named...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 13 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Part I: The Girl Who Counted StarsElijah worked the cotton fields from four in the morning until the sun went down. He was thirty-five years old, a former slave originally from the Congo, brought to America more than twenty years ago. He could not read. He could not write. But he had a memory that people described as unnatural. If you told him a story once, he could tell it back to you word for word. If you showed him a pattern...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 10 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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