The Wistful Silence
"You have brought the dust back with you again, have you not? It clings to your coat like a second skin, a grey shroud that refuses to be brushed away, and I can smell the damp earth and the rotting leaves even here, in this place where the air is supposed to be scrubbed clean by the wind that howls through the cracks in the ancient stone walls. I told you, I told you a thousand times, that the...
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