The Distant Temple
I, Padraig O'Casey, forty-two, am the man who cannot stop his hands from shaking, a fact that has cost me the promotion I wanted and the respect of the chancery staff. I sit in the typing pool of the modern Dublin chancery, the air thick with the ozone smell of the photocopiers and the damp chill of the Burren stone outside. My task is to catalog the Temple files, a job I took to secure my...
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