The Wistful Campus
The soup in the clay pot was boiling over, a thick, grey sludge that smelled of wet earth and old iron, and Elias stood by the stove with his hands hanging limp at his sides, watching the foam bubble up and spill onto the cold stone floor of the cabin, knowing with a cold, absolute certainty that he was the one who had brought the rot into the house, that the sickness was not in the air outside...
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