Sublime

cataclysmic

I could not make a fire. I could not cook anything. I fetched my sleeping bag – also damp – and took it to the First Vestibule. I lay down on a Dry, High Step of the Great Staircase. My last thought before I fell asleep was: He is dead. My only friend. My only enemy. I comfort Dr Ketterley entry for the twenty-eighth day of the ninth month in the y

haphazard