Recursion (Book): Difference between revisions

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| The elevator races upward, belying the age of the building around it, and Barry’s ears pop after a few seconds. When the doors finally part, he moves past a sign for a law firm. There’s a light on here and there, but the floor stands mostly dark. He runs along the carpet, passing silent offices, a conference room, a break room, a library. The hallway finally opens into a reception area that’s paired with the largest office.  
| The elevator races upward, belying the age of the building around it, and Barry’s ears pop after a few seconds. When the doors finally part, he moves past a sign for a law firm. There’s a light on here and there, but the floor stands mostly dark. He runs along the carpet, passing silent offices, a conference room, a break room, a library. The hallway finally opens into a reception area that’s paired with the largest office.  
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| In the dim light, the details are all in shades of gray. A sprawling mahogany desk buried under files and paperwork. A circular table covered in notepads and mugs of cold, bitter-smelling coffee. A wet bar stocked exclusively with bottles of Macallan Rare. A glowing aquarium that hums on the far side of the room and contains a small shark and several tropical fish.|| Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a war-room: corner office, cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. Sheer curtains billow, and then Sutton clocks it: ''the balcony door is open''. He pads over. || “The details are all in shades of grey” is pretty dreary writing. Does cold coffee smell of anything, let alone bitterness? A small ''shark'' in a fish tank? Seriously? What relevance is the whisky? To point out wealth? Better to lead Barry out towards the deck.
| In the dim light, the details are all in shades of gray. A sprawling mahogany desk buried under files and paperwork. A circular table covered in notepads and mugs of cold, bitter-smelling coffee. A wet bar stocked exclusively with bottles of Macallan Rare. A glowing aquarium that hums on the far side of the room and contains a small shark and several tropical fish.|| Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a corner office war-room cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. Sheer curtains billow, and then Sutton clocks it: ''the balcony door is open''. He pads over. || “The details are all in shades of grey” is pretty dreary writing. Does cold coffee smell of anything, let alone bitterness? A small ''shark'' in a fish tank? Seriously? What relevance is the whisky? To point out wealth? Better to lead Barry out towards the deck.
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| As Barry approaches the French doors, he silences his phone and removes his shoes. Taking the handle, he eases the door open and slips out onto the terrace.|| Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace.|| What is the obsession with shoes? Does it matter that his phone is on silent? Do we need to know about the handle? No.
| As Barry approaches the French doors, he silences his phone and removes his shoes. Taking the handle, he eases the door open and slips out onto the terrace.|| Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace.|| What is the obsession with shoes? Does it matter that his phone is on silent? Do we need to know about the handle? No.
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Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and prepares his A-game.
Sutton sniffs back a nose-bleed and prepares his A-game.


Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a war-room: corner office, cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''. Sheer curtains billow, and then Sutton clocks it: ''the balcony door is open''. He pads over.
Forty-one is dark. Deserted. Sutton hangs right and makes for the single light source at the end of the hall. It opens onto a corner office war-room, cluttered with the detritus of all-night deal-making: papers, markups, files, cold coffee. ''Everything but people''.  
 
Window-side sheer curtains billow, and Sutton clocks it: ''the balcony door is open''. He pads over.


Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace.
Barry sheds the loafers and slips out onto the terrace.