A dig where the stones were warm

I'm excavating a street in Herculaneum, and instead of tephra it's river silt, fine and damp. Every trowel stroke uncovers the same threshold stone, but it's warm, like it's been sitting in sun all day. I keep thinking, the town's been buried for two thousand years, and still — it hasn't cooled off yet. Then I wake up with my hands cold, and I'm oddly annoyed at the weather.