The Wistful Campus
The old oak tree in the center of the courtyard did not merely stand; it leaned, a heavy, gnarled spine bent under the weight of centuries, its branches stretching out like the arms of a drowning man trying to reach the surface of a sky that had long since stopped answering, and beneath its sprawling, shadowed canopy, where the light filtered down in thin, dusty shafts that illuminated the...
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