The Wistful Campus
The glass lay on the table. It was a chalice. Blue. Deep water blue. It had belonged to his father. No. To his grandfather. Time blurred the lines. The memory was a stone in the pocket. Heavy. Cold. Thomas stood in the hall. The floorboards creaked. They knew his weight. They knew his gait. He was a man of the law. Or so they said. A protector. A shield. The walls were high. Stone. Old. The air...
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