The Wistful Campus
The rain in Harrowgate did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, a permanent film over the soot-stained brick of the university and the tenement houses that huddled in its shadow like beggars. Arthur Vane stood at the window of his cramped office, watching the water bead and run down the glass, his reflection a ghostly smear of grey hair and hollow eyes against the dim light...
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