The Distant Temple

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2026-08-19 07:52:55 -

The kettle had been singing for twenty minutes, a high, thin whine that seemed to drill directly into the back of Arthur Penhaligon’s skull, yet he sat rigid in his armchair, the wooden thing he had found buried in the clay behind the vicarage, holding it with a grip so white-knuckled it looked like he was trying to strangle the wood itself. It was not, strictly speaking, a chair, though it...

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