The Distant Promise
The letter from the university registrar lay on the desk, the paper thin and yellowed, the ink smudged where my thumb had rested on it for too long. It was a formal notice of review, a polite way of saying that if I did not produce the final geological survey of the Kilmarnock Moors by November first, my tenure would be revoked and I would be left with nothing but my debts and my name. I signed...
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