The Wistful Campus
The mud in the trench was a thick, sucking brown that pulled at Elias Thorne’s boots with every step. He was thirty-four years old, a sergeant of the Royal Engineers, and he had not slept in three days. The rain had not stopped since Tuesday, turning the earth into a slurry that coated his uniform in a cold, heavy crust. He knew why he was there, though he could not look at the private without...
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