The Distant Temple
The clay pot weighed four pounds, and Brother Thomas knew this to the ounce because he had weighed it on the iron scale in the infirmary, the same scale used to measure the tallow for the evening candles. He counted the hours in the damp silence of the room, his hands trembling as they worked the soil, a fine, gritty dust that coated his skin like a second, colder layer. He was fifty-two years...
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