The Distant Metropolis
The hallway of Thorne’s house did not merely stretch; it expanded with a slow, muscular effort, like a throat preparing to swallow. I counted the floorboards as I walked, a habit born of my father’s strictness, but by the fourth step, the count had failed me. The oak planks, which should have ended at the far door after twelve strides, continued on into a dimness that smelled of damp wool and...
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