The Wistful Voyage
The roast was dry, the wine cheap, and the laughter in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s University was sharp enough to cut glass. I sat at the faculty table, my tie loosened, watching Dean Ashworth raise his glass to the newly appointed chair of Classics. He did not look at me. He looked through me, as he had for the last three years, a man who had decided that my existence was an error in the...
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