The Distant Temple
The rain in Leeds does not fall; it accumulates, a heavy, grey sludge that settles into the pores of your skin and the crevices of the cobblestones, turning the entire industrial district into a monochrome study of decay and dampness, a place where the air tastes of coal dust and rust and the metallic tang of old iron, and you, Dr. Elias Thorne, stand before the gate of the St. Jude’s Institute...
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