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The Automated Horologist: A Voltairian Disputation on the Best of All Possible Times.
The rain in Le Locle fell with a rhythmic persistence that no Swiss watchmaker had ever managed to regulate. Inside the centuries-old atelier of Maître Chronos, the atmosphere smelled of brass shavings, whale oil, and stubbornness. Chronos sat hunched over his bench, a loupe strapped to his brow, gently coaxing a hairspring into submission.
The door did …
