The weight was ridiculous.Objectively, it was a few ounces of platinum and carbon. A gram, perhaps two. But with each passing day, it began to possess a different weight. It began to possess a vibration. It began to exist, in a very real sense, in opposition to Anton's own. Because, of course, with each morning, Anton placed it in the inner breast pocket of his coat, it began to possess a value of a different magnitude. It began to possess a heaviness, a magnitude, of a different order. It was, in short, a burden. It was,It was purchased in Geneva, the day after Sabatine had gotten clearance from her physicians to travel. While she slept, encased in the penthouse blankets like a soldier reprieved from battle, Anton had slipped out into the night. He had not gone to a celebrated jeweler on the Rue du Rhône. There, his face would be recognizable, his purchase noted. Rather, it was to a private, appointment-only craftsman in the Old Town. Recommended by a Swiss banker who did not ask q
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