The Distant Temple
The rain against the high, arched windows of the St. Jude’s Municipal Records Office did not sound like water, but rather like the scratching of dry fingernails on a slate blackboard, a persistent, irritating noise that seemed to seep into the very marrow of my bones as I sat alone in the reading room, the gas lamps hissing their low, sullen tune in the corners of the dim, dust-choked space. It...
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