The Distant Summer
The air in the Great Hall of the Correctional Institute for Juvenile Delinquents in the valley of Ashworth is thick, not with dust, but with the heavy, cloying scent of boiled cabbage and old sweat, a smell that has seeped into the very stones and the wool of your uniform, making you feel as though you are breathing the institution itself, a slow and suffocating entity that wraps around your...
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