The Distant Temple
Thorne, you’re late for the meeting again. The voice belonged to Mr. Halloway, the Chairman of the Board, who stood in the doorway of the faculty lounge with a expression that suggested mild boredom rather than anger. It was October of 1892, and the light in the corridor was that thin, grey thing that precedes the full dark of autumn, making the shadows of the potted ferns look like spilled...
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