The Distant Temple
The banquet hall in the village of Oakhaven was a cavern of noise and oilcloth, where the air hung heavy with the scent of roasted boar and spilled wine. Dr. Arthur Penhaligon sat in the corner, his spine rigid against the wooden bench, watching the local magistrates and merchants laugh with a fervor that seemed to shake the very timbers of the roof. He was a man of precise habits and quiet...
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