The Faded Root
The rain had not ceased for seven days, and the cobblestones of the Old Quarter had become a slick, treacherous mirror reflecting the gas lamps’ sickly yellow glow, so that when you stepped out of the damp warmth of the university library into the biting chill of the street, you felt less like a man and more like a ghost, a spectral scholar clinging to the frayed hem of an era that was rapidly...
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