The Distant Crown
The rain falls on the cobblestones of Oxford with a rhythmic, metallic persistence, a sound that has defined the last forty years of your life. You stand at the window of your study, the glass cold against your forehead, watching the grey wash the world into a monochrome blur. The air smells of wet stone and old paper, a scent that has permeated your skin, your clothes, the very marrow of your...
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