The Wistful Letter
The mirror in the hallway had been cracked since the autumn, a jagged lightning bolt running from the top left corner down to the center, and I had never managed to find the time, or the nerve, to replace it. It was not that I was busy, for the university’s library was quiet now, the students having fled to their villages for the harvest, and the only sound in the dormitory was the ticking of...
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