The Pale Meridian
The frost came in with a violence that shattered the glass of the greenhouse before dawn, a sudden, violent exhalation from a sky that had been holding its breath. Elias Thorne stood amidst the splintered shards, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the terrible, familiar weight of his own hands. He was a man of seventy winters, a man who had spent half a century teaching the young...
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