The Wistful Campus
The house had been breathing for three days, a slow, wet exhalation that seemed to originate from the foundations and rise through the plaster walls to dampen the very air in the drawing room, where Elias Thorne sat motionless in the high-backed leather chair that had once belonged to his grandfather, his hands resting on his knees with a stillness that was not peace but a kind of suspended...
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