The Distant Temple
The train hissed into the station at Harrowgate with a sound like a dying animal, spewing a cloud of black smoke that settled over the platform like a shroud. Arthur Penhaligon stepped down onto the wet cobblestones, his leather trunk heavy in his hand, the wood worn smooth by years of travel and the friction of his own obsessive care. He adjusted his spectacles, the lenses fogging instantly in...
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