The Distant Threshold
He found the first map in a shoebox beneath a pile of winter coats, wrapped in tissue paper that had yellowed to the colour of old tea. It was not a map of the sort one might unfold at a desk and spread across London. It was drawn on something softer—vellum, perhaps, or the scraped skin of something that had once been alive—and it showed streets that existed only in a version of the city his...
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