The Wistful Campus

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2026-08-22 16:49:02 -

The train to St. Jude’s Convent smelled of coal smoke and damp wool, a scent that clung to the fabric of my coat as I clutched the silver locket in my left pocket. It was cracked down the center, a fracture I had inflicted with a hammer when my father’s debts became too heavy to hide, and now it dug into my hip with every jolt of the carriage. I was twenty-two, and I had come here not for...

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