The Wistful Campus
"Do you think he knows?" Elias asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel shifting under a heavy boot. He was standing by the window of the study, his back to me, staring out at the rain that streaked the glass in erratic, violent lines. "Does he know that the suit is no longer just wool and thread, but a skin he cannot shed?" I looked up from the ledger I had been balancing, the ink still wet...
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