The Distant Affair
"Margaret." The name hangs in the air of the Whitmore Institute’s main hall, stripped of its usual courtesy, a summons that cuts through the low hum of the ventilation system and the distant, rhythmic clatter of the copy machine in the annex. I do not turn immediately. I am standing by the window, watching the rain blur the glass into a gray smear, my hands resting on the cold sill, feeling the...
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