The Wistful Incense
The dream was a blueprint of cold stone and colder air. Julian saw the Great Hall of the St. Jude’s Infirmary not as it was, but as it should have been: a cathedral of healing, where the mortar between the bricks was made of compassion and the arches were held up by the weight of unseen, benevolent spirits. He woke with the taste of chalk dust in his mouth, his lungs tight against the damp wool...
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