The Distant Threshold
The rain lashed against the stained glass of the apse, a rhythmic, drumming assault that vibrated through the floorboards and into the soles of my shoes, blurring the boundary between the wet street outside and the dry, decaying interior of St. Jude’s. I was not there for prayer, nor was I there for the quiet dignity that the congregation seemed to seek in the flickering candlelight. I was...
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