Luyện nghe bài hát Ghosts of Angkor Wat

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