The Wistful Campus
The storm did not break; it shattered, a violent, crystalline rupture in the sky that turned the afternoon into a bruised twilight. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the library’s reading room, a place of hushed reverence and dust motes dancing in the slanting light, and watched the glass of the high arched windows explode inward. It was not a metaphor for her life, nor was it a warning,...
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