The Distant Promise
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Institute for Advanced Study smelled of beeswax, old paper, and the faint, metallic tang of anxiety that always seemed to linger in the corners of Dr. Arthur Penhaligon’s office. It was a feast of the mind, a sprawling table set with the remnants of a decade’s worth of debates, where the dishes were arguments and the wine was the vintage of truth, served in...
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