The Wistful Campus
The iron gates of the Citadel of St. Jude groaned open, a sound like the dying breath of a great beast, admitting the morning fog that clung to the cobblestones with the tenacity of a jealous lover. Within this ancient institution, where the air tasted of wet stone and the incense of centuries, there was no distinction between the sacred and the administrative; both were governed by the same...
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