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... first sign of how broken he was.
Normally Marlow’s voice carried through the entire press like a church bell—sharp, commanding, cracked around the edges but refusing to admit it. Orders barked, questions demanded, insults delivered with such casual cruelty that the apprentices had learned to take them like blessings, as if they were coins tossed by a stingy god.
But not now.
Now the room had fallen into a hush that wasn’t respectful so much as anticipatory, like the silen ...
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