The Golden Visit
The bell in the tower of the Priory of St. Jude had not rung in three hundred years, and yet I could hear it thrumming in the marrow of my left shin, a low, dull vibration that had replaced the sound of my own heartbeat. It was a Tuesday, I think, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days in the upper scriptorium had begun to blur into a single, unending ribbon of grey parchment and the smell of dried...
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