The Distant Temple
The room is bright with the specific, aggressive light of a celebration that has lasted too long, and you are standing by the window where the glass is cold against your cheek, watching the rain smear the streetlights into long, weeping streaks of amber and gray. The air inside is thick with the scent of roasted lamb, spilled wine, and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies that Mrs. Halloway has...
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