The Distant Threshold
The rain hit the cobblestones with a rhythmic, hollow thud. It was cold. Not the crisp, clean cold of winter, but a wet, sucking chill that seeped into the bone. Arthur held his umbrella low. The handle was slick. He did not look up. He looked at the pavement. He looked at the mud. He looked at the shadow of the archway ahead. He was walking to the Hall. The Great Hall. The center of the...
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