The Wistful Letter
The gate is broken. You stand before it in the rain. The iron bars are bent like old bones. You are a scholar. You are tired. The stone of the university wall is slick with moss and rot. You hold a letter in your hand. It is heavy. The paper is wet. You do not look down. You look at the door. It is ajar. A draft pulls at your coat. You step inside. The courtyard is dead. The fountain does not...
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