The Magician’s Nephew. - C.S. Lewis
The wind that blew in their faces was cold, yet somehow stale. Low down and near the horizon hung a great, red sun, far bigger than our sun. It was also older than ours: a sun near the end of its life, weary of looking down upon the world. To the left of the sun, and higher up, there was a single star, big and bright. Those were the only two things to be seen in the dark sky; they made a dismal group.
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