The Distant Garden
The air inside the conservation vault smells of ozone and old paper, a scent that has seeped into the very fibers of your tweed jacket over the last three years, becoming indistinguishable from the smell of your own skin. You are alone in the room, a fact that you have cultivated with the meticulous care of a gardener tending a rare orchid, for solitude is the only medium in which the truth of...
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