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Updated: May 2, 2025
Buildings huge, or tiny huts; all anchored in the rear to the ground, and set upon metal girders in the front. Bisecting the slope was a vertical street a broad escalator of moving steps, one half going upward, the other down. Beside it, a series of other escalators for the traffic of moving merchandise. Cross streets on the hill were spider bridges, clinging with thin, stiff legs.
The crescent terraces, visible through a shallow canyon of buildings to the left, were a blaze of colored lights with the dark figures of people thronging them. The mingled hum of instruments was in the night air; sometimes the snap of an aerial; and the steady, clicking whir of the night escalators on the city street levels and inclines. It seemed hours that we waited.
I know what it's about; you all want to cheat me of my rights, and keep my usurping uncle on the ducal throne. And you, you false-hearted harlot, you're the worst of them all!" Sir Nevil Ormm caught his shoulder and spun him around, propelling him toward the escalators. Dunnan struggled, screaming inarticulately like a wounded wolf. Ormm was cursing furiously. "You two!" he shouted.
"Not that we care what happens to Chester Pelton, but we have to protect our own people at the store." "Yes, of course," Prestonby agreed. "Come in on our north stage. You'll probably find a fight going on on our twelfth floor, just inside. Anybody who's trying to get up the escalators to the office block will be an enemy." "Right. We're halfway there now."
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