The Wistful Campus
The argument in the faculty lounge did not begin with a shout, but with the sharp, percussive crack of a porcelain cup shattering against the mahogany table. The sound was small, intimate, yet it severed the air in the room like a guillotine blade. Julian Vane did not flinch. He stood by the window, his back to the shattered remains, watching the rain streak the glass in vertical, weeping...
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