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167 Publicações
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11/02/1987
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The Last Iron KnightThe first shell fell at three minutes past midnight. Klaus Richter felt it before he heard it—a deep, tectonic shudder that traveled up through the concrete of his basement shelter and into his bones. Then the ceiling collapsed. Then the world turned to fire and thunder. He woke in darkness, dust filling his mouth like ground glass, the taste of pulverized brick and something sweeter—burning...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 AnteriorFaça Login para curtir, compartilhar e comentar!
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"Welcome home, Mr. Arthur," she said.# The Keeper of the Silver Spring ## 第一幕:起势(约20%) The war ended in November, but I did not end with it. I came back to Massachusetts in March, when the snow was still thick on the roads and the world pretended that nothing had happened. They gave me a medal and a handshake and a pat on the shoulder that felt like an insult. Somewhere in the trenches of the Somme, three hundred thousand boys had...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Ring in the SkyI. Mike O'Sullivan woke up on the Moon and looked through a crack in the habitat wall and saw the Ring. It was massive—easily fifty thousand kilometers across, a ring-shaped object in lunar orbit that glowed faintly, like a piece of hot metal cooling in the dark. It was visible from Earth with the naked eye, which meant everyone back home knew it was there. Everyone back home except Mike's...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Between the Wave and the ShoreConsider two photographs of the same woman. In the first, she is standing on the platform at St. Ives station, her collar turned up against the wind, her eyes fixed on something beyond the frame. In the second, she is seated at a wooden desk in a room with high windows, a stack of case files at her elbow, her pen suspended above a page that is half-filled with the cramped handwriting of someone...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Assessed ValueAct I: The SignatureThe office smelled like stale coffee and the particular dampness that comes from a building that was constructed in the nineteen-fifties and has been slowly losing the war against water ever since. Bill Hansen sat behind a desk that belonged to the previous tenant of this suite—a law firm that had gone out of business and left everything except the desk, which Bill kept...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Archivist's Smile(V-13: Fatalistic Cycle) The Island of Aethelgard did not exist in space, but in a loop. The Archivist had lived through the Great Tide one hundred and twelve times. He remembered every detail of every cycle: the way the wind smelled of ozone before the first wave hit, the exact moment the temple bells would crack, and the precise expression of terror on the faces of the villagers when the sea...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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Testimony of the Stone BenchI am granite. I was cut from a quarry in Cornwall in the year 1810, transported by barge along the coast to the mouth of the Thames, and carried by cart to the site of the new customs house. I was placed in a vault beneath the river at a depth of fourteen feet below the waterline. I weigh approximately four hundred and eighty pounds. My surface is smooth but not polished. I have no...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Golden ExchangeThe ticker tape never stopped talking. That was the first thing Vincent Moretti learned on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange: the machine had opinions, and they came in the form of punched paper ribbons that fell like confetti from the ceiling of a cathedral built for a new god. He was nineteen, Irish-Italian from Hester Street, with ink on his fingers and a photographic memory that made...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Patient from BelowACT I: THE LISTENING The sanatorium sat on the edge of Whitechapel, where the fog never fully lifted and the gas lamps cast yellow circles on cobblestones that were perpetually damp. Julian Ashworth had been sent here by his physician after his "episode" at twenty-five—a nervous breakdown, the doctor called it, though Julian suspected the word "nervous" was a euphemism for something the doctor...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 8 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Roots of Magnolia ObservatoryThe magnolia trees had been there longer than the house. Catherine Beauregard knew this because her grandfather had told her so, sitting on the veranda with a glass of sweet tea and a pipe that smelled of cherrywood and memory. "Those trees," he had said, "were here before the war, before the debt, before the world decided that the Beauregards were finished. They will be here after." She had...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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The Other Side of the MirrorThe first session with Client X began on a Monday in March, which is to say it began on a day that was indistinguishable from every other day in my practice. I am Arthur Payne. I am forty-five years old. I am a psychologist with a private practice on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I specialize in trauma and post-traumatic stress. I have been doing this work for eighteen years. I am good at...0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 9 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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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 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior
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