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... hundered with familiar sounds—hammers on anvils, the hiss of cooling steel, the low roar of furnaces. Men shouted to one another as carts of timber and iron rolled past. Progress was being forged day by day. Yet Phillip’s gaze had already moved to something beyond rails and engines.

Inside the drafting hall, the tall windows let in pale spring light. A single parchment hung pinned to the wall above the oak table. It wasn’t of a locomotive this time. No pistons, no smokestack, no flywheel ...

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