The Distant Garden
I woke with the taste of copper and old wool in my mouth, the heavy weight of the damask sheet still tangled around my legs like the arms of a lover who had long since departed. For a moment, I was not Professor Aldous Thorne, the tenured historian of the University of Cambridge, sitting in the cramped, book-lined study of my college rooms in the Trinity term. I was someone else, someone who...
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