The Distant Summer
The ink was still wet on the final page when the air in my study grew heavy, smelling faintly of ozone and old paper. I was fifty-four years old, a senior archivist at the University of St. Jude’s, and I had twelve hours to submit the final chapter of *The Medieval Trade Routes of the Rhine*, a work that had consumed the last decade of my life. My hands trembled as I reached for the pen, not...
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