The Wistful Dinner
The rain falls on the moor. It does not stop. You walk. Your boots are heavy. The mud is thick. It pulls at your heels. You do not look down. You look ahead. The fog is white. It eats the horizon. You are a scholar. You know this. You know the dust of the library. You know the smell of old paper. You know the silence of the study. But here, there is only wind. And cold. You carry a box. It is...
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