The Wistful Campus
The old oak in the courtyard of St. Jude’s Academy did not merely stand; it held the weight of a century’s silence in its gnarled, twisting branches, its bark peeling away in long, dry strips that hung like the rags of a penitent. It was the only living thing in the quadrangle that had not been paved over, caged behind iron, or silenced by the heavy, suffocating velvet of tradition, and to...
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