Luyện nghe bài hát Ghosts of Angkor Wat

[17 October:
Such grim musings as have been occupying my mind of late unfortunately
to a possible link to the fate of my learned friend and colleague
Doctor Ignatius Stone. That brilliant was last seen in command
of all his faculties whilst on an expedition to the of the Sumerian
of Ur, an undertaking which preceded my own work there by some eighteen
months. was a gifted archaeologist who also dabbled, perhaps unwisely,
in certain areas of the occult, particularly involving the
grotesqueries worshipped as Cthonic deities by the ancient denizens of Ur.
Mere days he ventured into the ziggurats of that foreboding,
mystery-haunted site, he had a letter to me claiming that he was
on the verge of a truly staggering arcane discovery at Ur would
simultaneously prove the cyclical of human civilisation as well as
immediately redundant all previous theories on the origin of man.
Whatever misfortune befell him those aeons-old tombs robbed him
irrevocably of his sanity, for when his finally managed to prise
open the stone door of the central catacomb, which had, I'm told,
inexplicably shut fast behind his torch-bearing party, they found
two of the regularly stalwart men had seemingly of pure fright,
while Stone was slumped against the wall, staring vacantly into the
gloom, gibbering about visitations by beings so terrible the very
contemplation of their existence would sunder a man's hold on the
of sanity.
When I visited him at the sanatorium in England, I found him to be a
tragic shell of the man I once knew, a man beset by imagined and
ever wary of the immemorial horrors which he claimed at the periphery
of perceptions. Indeed, I was glad I had taken a journal into
which I could transcribe his delusional rants, for he had a deal to
tell me The Dreamer In The Catacombs Of Ur: