The Pale Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a gray, persistent dampness that soaked into the bones of the city and the mind of the scholar. You sat in the cramped office, the heat radiator clanking its rusty protest against the cold, and you watched the water bead on the windowpane. It was a study in decay, your little kingdom of books and dust, but it was all you had left after the grant was...
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