The Distant Temple
October 14, 1924 The ink on my fingers is black, but it does not wash off with water. It only fades when I stop speaking. I have learned this rule in thirty-two years of service, though I have never understood the cruelty of it. The town of Harrow’s End is bankrupt. The mill closed in ’22, and the banks have seized the debt. Silas Vane is coming tomorrow to buy the Archive. He calls it...
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