The Distant Temple
The brass badges on the chests of the men in the Grand Hall were not polished so much as they were being erased, worn down by the friction of their own bodies, the sweat and the heavy wool of their coats rubbing against the metal until it was no longer a symbol of rank but a dull, grey smear, a piece of trash glued to the fabric, and Colonel Arthur Penhaligon stood in the center of the room,...
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