The Distant Temple

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2026-08-19 05:37:12 -

The rain did not fall in Miller’s Crossing. It hovered. It hung in the air like a thick, grey wool, waiting for someone to pull it down. Silas Vane stood on the porch. He held a glass of whiskey. The liquid was amber. It swirled. He watched the mist. It obscured the road. It obscured the past. He was old. His knees clicked. A dry, hollow sound. Like dead leaves underfoot. He had been the judge....

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