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... Mr Earbrass stands on the terrace at twilight. It is bleak, it is cold, and the virtue has gone out of everything. Words drift through his mind: anguish turnips conjunctions illness defeat string parties no parties urns desuetude disaffection claws loss trehizond napkins shame stones distance fever antipodes mush glaciers incoherence labels miasma amputation tides deceit mourning elsetvards …
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Showing posts from August, 2019
Give Your PCs Weird Houses (I Made You a Generator So It's Easy)
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