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05/09/2003
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The Last Breath of DustAct I: The Grey Horizon The world did not end with a bang, but with a slow, suffocating fade. In the ruins of what was once New York, the sky had become a permanent shade of charcoal, and the wind carried the metallic taste of a dead civilization. Elias lived in the "Silt-Holes," the lowest levels of the city's industrial basement. He was a scavenger of the obsolete, a man who spent his days...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотрВойдите, чтобы отмечать, делиться и комментировать!
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Bob Miller woke up at six in the morning and made coffee and drank it standing at the kitchen window and watched a truck drive past on the street and thought about nothing for twelve minutes, which...The day was the same as every other day. He showered. He put on the same jeans he had worn yesterday, the same shirt that was grey but not quite grey, more the colour of a sky that has forgotten how to be blue. He left the apartment at seven and walked to the employment office on East 55th Street and stood in line and waited. He had been standing in lines for seven months. The man at the desk...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 0 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Snake Charmer's SonMy grandfather brought snakes from Havana in a wicker basket lined with damp burlap. My father brought them to Coney Island and made five dollars a night off tourists who thought Cuban snake charming was authentic and not just my grandfather smoking opium and waving a handkerchief at a couple of garter snakes he bought from a pet store in Brooklyn. I bring them to Brooklyn Bridge Park and make...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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What Frank KnewI. The factory closed on a Wednesday. Frank Delaney found out because the foreman came around at noon and told everyone to go home and pack their things. No ceremony. No farewell party. Just a man in a hard hat telling three hundred men that their jobs were over and they should figure out the rest on their own. Frank drove his truck home through the rain and parked it in the driveway and sat...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Mirror at BlackthorneDr. Sarah Whitmore noticed the change in Mark O'Connor on a Thursday in October, which is to say she noticed that on Thursdays Mark sat differently than he did on other days. Not noticeably to anybody else—Mark was a man whose default expression was a calm so complete that it could have been mistaken for peace—but to Sarah, who had spent sixteen years studying the ways that human bodies carried...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The quiet rainThe rain was falling on the hardware store the way rain falls on hardware stores all over the Midwest—not dramatically, not with the kind of intensity that makes you run for cover, but steadily, persistently, the kind of rain that soaks through your coat without you noticing until you are already wet. James Kellerman was behind the counter, counting inventory. Nails. Screws. Washers. The kind...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Blood SecretThe rain in Chicago doesn't fall. It hangs in the air like a guilty conscience, persistent and impossible to shake. Jack O'Malley stood under the awning of his detective agency and watched it smear the city into watercolors of gray and neon and the red glow from the bar across the street. The phone rang. He let it ring four times before picking it up. "O'Malley." "Mr. O'Malley? I need your...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The mansion on blackwood hillThe house had been dying for one hundred and fifty years, and Atticus Blackwood was its last physician. Or perhaps its last mourner. He was not sure which. Blackwood Manor stood on a hill above the Savannah River in South Carolina, a sprawling Victorian structure of faded white pillars and purple ivy that had grown over the cracks like a scar tissue trying to hold the building together. The...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Foundling of Blackwood ManorACT I The storm broke over Yorkshire moors like a hammer upon an anvil. Arthur Blackwood rode through the driving rain with his lantern held high, the candlelight guttering in the gale until it was nothing but a dying ember in his iron cage. He had been to St. Mary's church three miles from the manor, praying for the thing that had eluded him these seven years of marriage. What he found on the...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Antibody and the AntigenThe village of Marazion did not know that it was an immune system. If you had asked any of its four hundred and thirty-seven residents, they would have told you that Marazion was a fishing village, a community, a collection of families bound by generations of shared weather and shared worship and shared salt. They would have said that they looked after their own. And they would have meant it....0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Mirror in the CellACT ONE: THE COLLECTING The glass towers of Midtown Manhattan reflected the morning sun like blades. I stood in the lobby of our consulting firm on Fifth Avenue and watched my own reflection in the marble floor—a man in a tailored suit, polished shoes, a gold watch that cost more than most people made in a month. I looked like a man who had made it. I looked like a man who belonged to the...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Silent Archive of ManhattanThe city above was a symphony of sirens and screaming neon, but in the basement of a nondescript brownstone on 42nd Street, there was only the hum of a dehumidifier and the smell of vanilla and decay. Julian moved through the stacks like a ghost in his own haunt. He was the curator of the Silent Archive, a collection of texts that the world had deemed too dangerous, or perhaps too honest, to...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 7 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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