Luyện nghe bài hát Ghosts of Angkor Wat

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