Deep in the shadowy vaults, the Museum’s underground storage twists and turns in strange passageways with even stranger objects. A wall of masks, a row of bright garments, or clay figurines peer after you as you walk by. When I found myself in the dark, concrete room with the low dangling light bulb I knew I had gone too far. ‘I should have known,’ I thought to myself, ‘you take a left after the mural depicting the doctors of the black plague.’
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Just Like Night at the Museum, But Different
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