“A church made of bone!?” I exclaimed. “Yes, and tastefully done too,” came Ralph’s reply. The bus taking both of us from the city of Palmyra in Syria continued to rumble along the dusty, desert highway as visions of a bone church unfurled in my mind. I again questioned, “Human bone?” and the answer, though expected, was still a surprising “Yes”. I contemplated such a church, and thought that anything constructed of human bone would be confined to the realm of computer games, where these unholy places were always guarded by a great horned demon who pursued any foolhardy intruder relentlessly with a massive spiked club. The words, “I must see this place!” soon leapt from my mouth with great conviction, and thus my quest was born. Unfortunately, the learned Ralph could not recall the location
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