Peter Bradley

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The air currents had died down, and the skeletons swung more slowly now; there was less clacking and clattering, quieter now, though just as disturbing. The left wall was fifteen meters and two dozen skeletons away, the right wall the same, but the far wall was beyond view—all we could see were more skeletons, stretching endlessly into the distance . . . literally hundreds, I guessed. Thousands? It was horribly possible.
Ship of Fools
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