The Distant Temple
The fog does not lift. It thickens. You stand in the hall of your own home, but the air tastes of wet iron and old paper. It is the year 1912, or perhaps 1924. The date is irrelevant. The clock on the mantel has stopped at three o’clock. You check your watch. It is also three o’clock. You are Dr. Arthur Vance. You are a scholar of metaphysics at the university. You are a man who believes in...
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