The Distant Temple
The fog rolls in thick and gray, smelling of wet ash and old iron. You step off the train at a station that does not exist on any map. The platform is slick with rain. Your boots sink slightly into the mud. You are Dr. Arthur Penhaligon. You are a scholar of comparative mythology, though you have forgotten most of your footnotes. You are also running. Or perhaps you are walking. The distinction...
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