The Distant Temple
The fog that rolled in from the estuary did not simply cover the town of Ashworth; it consumed it, a thick, gray wool that muffled the sharp edges of the cobblestones and turned the gaslights into smudged halos of sickly yellow, and I lay awake in the narrow bed of my sister’s parlor, listening to the wind rattle the shutters like a prisoner testing the bars, while the dream persisted, a heavy,...
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