The Distant Metropolis
The letter lay open on the desk, the ink still wet, the accusation stark against the cream-colored paper. I read it again, the words blurring under the harsh fluorescent light that hummed above the mahogany surface, accusing me of fabricating the provenance of the Ashworth Codex to secure my tenure. The Board’s chair, Mr. Halloway, had not even looked up when he slid the document across the...
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