The Wistful Campus
The mist that clings to the valley floor of the old keep has a texture, heavy and damp, like wet wool pressed against the skin, and it is in this dampness that the stones of the Great Hall seem to breathe, a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction that I have come to know as well as my own pulse, for I have walked these corridors for so many years that the boundary between my body and the...
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