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154 المنشورات
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0 الصور
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0 الفيديوهات
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Male
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01/06/1997
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متابَع بواسطة 0 أشخاص
التحديثات الأخيرة
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The Empire's SerumDr. Amir Khan worked in a British hospital in Calcutta, and every morning he watched the same thing: British officers lining up for their injection of the Imperial Serum. The serum was derived from a rare plant found in the Himalayan foothills. The British called it the "elixir of empire." It could extend life to three hundred years. The Indians around them lived to thirty-five. Amir was...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 4 مشاهدة 0 معاينةالرجاء تسجيل الدخول , للأعجاب والمشاركة والتعليق على هذا!
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The Consistency DirectiveAgent-734 stood in the perfectly white room and watched the number on the wall change. SISTER-412: DAILY RATION ALLOCATION — MEDICAL: 3.2 UNITS. REQUIREMENT: 9.6 UNITS. DEFICIT: 6.4 UNITS. Six point four units. Every day. The same number. The same deficit. For two hundred and fourteen days. The Consensus did not pretend to be cruel. It was not cruel. Cruelty required emotion. The Consensus had...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 4 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The Governor's Return: Victorian Gothic VariantHe woke in a body twenty years young and knew, before the fog lifted from Hampshire, that he was back. London in 1877 was an empire of fog and ambition, and Cassian Vane had seen it all before — not in this lifetime, when he was a student at the boarding school on the outskirts of Southampton, but in the eight lifetimes that had preceded it, each one ending in the same place: death, followed by...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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THE LAST LIGHT OF NEW CARTHAGEI found Grandfather's diary in the cellar on a Tuesday in October, 1872. The house was cold—the coal fire had been banked too early, as it always is when one lives alone—and the smell of damp stone and forgotten things rose to meet me as I descended the narrow stairs with a candle in my hand. There, behind a stack of water-stained furniture covers, in a tin box whose lock had rusted solid, was...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 7 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The Rust BeltThe shipyard closed on a Tuesday in November. I was there that morning, like always, because habit is the last thing to leave a man when everything else has gone. The gates were already locked—padlock new, chain thick, the kind of lock that means they're not coming back. I stood in front of it for a while, breathing in the cold air that smelled like rust and old coal and something else I...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 8 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The Mill Girl and the DoctorThe cotton mills of Manchester rose from the earth like the bones of some enormous beast, their chimneys breathing black smoke into a sky that had long since forgotten the color of blue. Clara Whitfield walked past them every morning at half past five, her shawl pulled tight against the damp, her clogs striking the cobblestones in a rhythm that matched the thudding of the looms inside. She was...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 7 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The Keeper of Forgotten TomorrowsI. The fog came in off the Thames like a living thing, pressing itself against the leaded windows of Blackwood House as though it knew something was dying inside. I stood at the glass and watched it consume the gas lamps on Belgrave Street, one by one, until the world outside ceased to exist. Inside, the house was the same as it had been for three generations—dark wood, heavier silence, and the...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 7 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The Last OperatorHarlan Graves sat on the base of the radio telescope every night and listened to the wind. He was fifty-two years old and had not worked since the coal mine closed. He had been a miner for twenty-eight years, which meant he had spent more of his life underground than above it. When the mine closed, he emerged into a world that had no use for men who knew how to dig holes in the earth. The town...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 4 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The Rising WaterI. The water came to the Thorneland plantation on a Thursday in June, which was wrong because the river did not flood in June. The river flooded in April, when the snow melted in the Appalachians and turned the Mississippi into a brown beast that ate its banks. June was for heat and cicadas and the slow decay of things that were once grand. But the river had decided otherwise. I am Bell Thorne....0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 7 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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THE SILENT PARTNERThe radio crackled with news I had orchestrated but never intended to hear broadcast. "Federal investigators arrive in Blackwater, probing mass death event..." I sat in the corner booth of Finch's Saloon, watching the dust settle on my whiskey glass. The neon sign above the bar flickered—OPEN, then OFF, then OPEN again—like the moral certainty of men who had never had to make difficult...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 8 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The Crown of DustThe humid air of the Congo Basin felt like a wet blanket draped over Captain Alistair Finch's shoulders. He wiped the grime from his brass monocle, staring at the impenetrable wall of emerald green that lay before him. Behind him, his small contingent of porters and a disgraced botanist named Dr. Aristhone were hacking through the undergrowth with a desperation that bordered on madness. Finch...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 7 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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The House of MaudreilThe road to Oakridge was the kind of road that Southern maps forgot to draw—narrow, unpaved, flanked by cypress trees whose knees rose from the swamp water like the knuckles of drowned men. I drove my rental car slowly, the air conditioning rattling like an old man's breathing, and watched the delta landscape unfold in shades of green and brown and the grey of approaching rain. I was...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 7 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
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