Allan Malcolmson

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“We divorced.” I don’t add that Eurydice is dead. Has been for eight years. “Oh.” He inclines his head awkwardly. “My condolences. Eurydice was a lovely lady.” She was more than that; she was resplendent and she was the world. But I’m not here to wax nostalgic about my ex-wife with him when he barely knew her.
Shall Machines Divide the Earth (Machine Mandate, #3)
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